


9-Emancipation

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 3, What Was Old is New Again [9]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, BDSM, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-11
Updated: 2001-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After five years of waiting to do It right, the Boyz get their chance when Obi-Wan is finally knighted. Or do they? Obi-Wan's knighted, Bruck's slighted. Somebody else picks up the slack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	9-Emancipation

**Author's Note:**

> Opening art by Black Rose

Obi-Wan wished that his tunic were a little longer or his pants not quite so tight, drawing his cloak closer around him to conceal the bulge growing in anticipation of the person waiting for him in his quarters.

He had left the party late—though as early as was polite, considering that no one else seemed much inclined to leave before him—and still it took him some time to work his way through the crowd of well-wishers. His mood was considerably lighter now, for both the stew of intoxicants in his system and Bruck’s gentle cajoling. _Live in the moment,_ Qui-Gon would have said. Bruck’s phraseology was a little different, but the sentiment and the lesson were the same: “Right now is what matters, Ben. And Right Now, you’re with me, at a great party celebrating the fact that you passed a trial that probably would have killed me or anybody else and that I have to call you Knight Kenobi. Lighten up.” So he had at least begun to act as if he were truly enjoying himself, and found that in the acting came the reality. By the time he began to weave his way through the crowd toward the door, it was three hours to daylight and he was smiling and laughing and hugging his friends on the way out.

He was leaving with gifts too, small ones, in addition to the much larger gift of his friends’ presence and the party itself. Bant, ever practical but mindful of the need for beauty even in the useful, had given him a boot sheath of cured and tooled hide to hold a small, fine-bladed knife of the kind many Calamarians carried, its handle inlaid with nacre in the same pattern as the sheath. Reeft, whose pudgy fingers were far more nimble than they looked, likewise gave him an exquisitely patterned and ingenious hand-forged belt clip for his lightsaber. Tianna’s gift was a new, hand-woven strap for his lutar, a subtle pattern of birds and blossoming trees from Dannora worked into it. Along the same lines, Isa Kassir, Qui-Gon’s first padawan’s padawan—to whom he still felt he owed a large favor for once obtaining some sealed Temple files for him—gave him a new set of picks and strings. Siri had dipped far into her stipend and gotten him an electronic tuner, perhaps as a way of making up for the numerous snarky comments she had made to him when they were younger. Where she’d heard he needed a new one he could only guess, looking pointedly at Bruck, who grinned innocently and handed him a very small package he was told to open in the privacy of his own quarters.

Where he was heading now, to a gift he was looking forward to more than any of the others.

 

* * *

 

Closing Ben’s fist around the small box, he forced himself to smile, and even managed to make it a sly one, though his face felt numb. He wasn’t sure whether that was because he was so drunk or because . . . just because. “Y’better open thish later—in private,” he said, words a little slurred.

“Thanks, B-Boy,” Kenobi grinned, clutching the gift and swaying a little, his pupils pinpoints even in the dark. “Sure you don’ wanna gimme this later?”

“Nah, I think you oughta have ‘em t’night. Qui’ll get a kick outta ‘em too. Now g’home b’fore you’re too shitfaced to use ‘em.” _Go home before you make me fuck you right here,_ he thought, _like that night behind the club._ The memory was one he usually enjoyed; tonight it left a hollow ache in his chest.

Ben threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly. His breath, when they kissed, tasted a little metallic with the inhalants he’d been popping. The familiar scent of aroused and somewhat debauched Kenobi and the weight of his body against Bruck’s brought his own cock up hard. “I love you,” Ben murmured, nuzzling Bruck’s neck, rubbing their groins together. “Thanks for tonight. It was a great party. Thanks for makin’ me enjoy it.”

Already Ben sounded more sober—or maybe it was just his imagination, knowing where Kenobi was going, who he was going home to, and why. “Hey, jus’ wait’ll y’see the one in your pants t’morrow night,” Bruck threatened, and kissed the man in his arms hard, at the same time thinking, _Like I could really improve on what you’re going to get tonight._ He pushed Kenobi away abruptly, grinning again. “Go on. Qui’s been waitin’ long enough. Don’ forget the rest of your presents.”

Ben darted in and kissed him once more, just a quick peck. “Love you,” he whispered.

And then he was gone.

Bruck leaned back against the wall of the Temple then slid down the cladding until he was squatting on his haunches, dropped from there to his arse with a soft but jarring thud, and let the alcohol have its way with his nervous system. Somewhere at his feet—he felt for it—was his glass. Finding it, he took another mouthful, held the harsh liquor in his mouth for a moment, letting it warm him, and swallowed the burn. Then he inhaled the cool Coruscant night air slowly and let it out, not wanting to sober up just yet but knowing if he got any drunker it wouldn’t help, either.

Inside, the party was winding down and he could almost hear Ben making his way through the crowd from the pitch of laughter and its location. That was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid—watching Ben go—so he made himself watch the traffic instead, which was sparse enough at this hour, looking like dropped stitches of light on the dark fabric of sky. It left him feeling rather like a dropped stitch himself, but there was nothing for it but to endure—and be happy for Ben.

 

* * *

 

A quarteryear since they had last slept together. Eighty-seven days and some odd hours. It felt like a lifetime. In the five years Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had been lovers, their longest separation had been a halfyear, and neither of them had been certain any part of their relationship would survive it. Qui-Gon had blocked their bond during his absence and come back from the mission not only badly injured, but with that bond completely severed; Obi-Wan, devastatingly lonely, had in the meanwhile slept with Bruck Chun, precipitating their now-ongoing relationship. It had taken master and apprentice nearly as long to heal their respective hurts as it had taken to inflict them. This separation, though shorter, had been fraught with its own crises, but at least they had been near each other, able to touch and hold one another once Qui-Gon was out of the bacta tank, to speak not only without rancor but with love.

Though he had been pronounced fit by the Healers some tens before, Qui-Gon had preferred to wait until tonight to end their enforced celibacy, ostensibly to make Obi-Wan’s meditative vigil prior to the ceremony easier, and give Qui-Gon undistracted time to begin teaching his new padawan. The voluntary portion of their celibacy had been much harder than the involuntary time since neither wanted to give up sharing a bed.

As he had promised earlier, Qui-Gon was not waiting up, but he was indeed waiting when Obi-Wan returned to their quarters. At the sound of the door and his own footfalls, the light in their room came on and he found the older man lounging against the headboard, covers pooled at his waist. Qui-Gon had tied his hair into the plait he usually wore at night, and sat with his hands clasped in his lap, looking oddly like a new bride on the wedding night. Obi-Wan leaned down and kissed him gently, then sat on the edge of the bed, carefully not touching him for fear of setting the bed on fire.

“Where’s Anakin?”

“In the creche with some new friends. We have the rooms to ourselves until late afternoon.”

Obi-Wan grinned. “I commend your foresight. Did you sleep?

“Some,” Qui-Gon replied, eyes twinkling. “Despite the anticipation.”

“Pays to be a Jedi Master at times like these, I suppose.”

“Occasionally it has its uses. Did you manage to enjoy yourself?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Yes, finally. After Bruck bullied me out of my self-absorption and broke a few inhalant caps under my nose.”

“You don’t seem any the worse for it.”

“No, I cleared most of it out of my system on the way here. Just a warm glow left. Of course, that could be you.”

“You think so?” Qui-Gon smiled. “Before the heat of the moment makes me forget, Yoda’s left something for you.”

“Yoda?” Obi-Wan repeated, feeling a little dread settle in his stomach.

“Don’t look so worried. It’s only a knighting gift. I imagine you received a few others this evening.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Some lovely things. I’ll show you later. And there’s one from Bruck I should probably open now.”

“Let me give you Yoda’s first.”

From the table beside the bed he took a small, flat silken pouch and placed it in Obi-Wan’s hand. The new knight unsealed it curiously, then reached inside and drew out a long, thin braid, its strands the color of old bronze with glints of gold in them, tied off with white ties, and threaded with white beads, except where it began. There, it was tucked together into a clasp that sealed it off securely inside a green glass bead from which a small golden hook dangled.

Obi-Wan ran it reverently through his hands, vision blurring a little. “It’s so long,” he said finally, in a rather choked whisper.

“My hair grows rather quickly, as you’ve probably noticed,” Qui-Gon said, running long fingers over the spot where Obi-Wan’s braid had resided just hours earlier. “I was a padawan a bit longer than you, since Yoda chose me so young, and it was down to my waist when he cut it. May I?” he asked, taking the braid from his former padawan’s hands. “Let me take this off,” he said in a voice suddenly gone husky, running his hand beneath the high collar of Obi-Wan’s blacks, closures parting beneath his fingers like magic, fingertips tracing the muscular chest beneath and stealing his breath.

The braid went round his neck twice, lying like a silken rope against his throat, one of the beads against his pulse point, which was hammering suddenly. The soft, uneven end trailed a little down his chest like a tassel. Qui-Gon stroked his fingers down it to the nipple it led to and pinched the nub of rosy flesh.

As though released from confinement, Obi-Wan surged into his lap, straddling his legs, catching Qui-Gon’s face between his palms and bringing their mouths together with sudden violence. The older man met it with an equal, newly unrestrained ferocity, his hands sliding beneath Obi-Wan’s buttocks, lifting him, kneading hard as their tongues slid along each others, met and pushed against each other for dominance, stroked and explored, tasted and suckled, as they bit and nipped savagely at each other’s lips, making muffled, frantic noises.

“You’re certain?” Obi-Wan gasped, when they released each other’s mouths long minutes later, lips already swollen and sensitive. He stroked the dark skin beneath his lover’s eyes tenderly with his thumbs, still cupping the thinner and sharper-featured face between his hands. “You’re looking a bit ragged round the edges yet.”

“I’m certain that I’ve waited five long years for this and that I won’t wait another moment,” Qui-Gon growled, hands stripping away the already open black tunic. When it was gone, crumpled in a heap on the floor, Qui-Gon dragged him upright again and fastened his teeth onto Obi-Wan’s nipple.

The shock went straight to his groin, made him cry out and clutch at Qui-Gon’s hair. Of their own accord, his fingers went to the bottom of the plait, tore out the fastening and unwound it so he could sink his hands into it and drag his lover’s mouth to the other nipple, which was aching with neglect. “Qui!” he gasped, following it with a guttural moan. “Bruck’s present—I think—uh! Oh, don’t stop! I think I should—oh, oh gods! More!—open it.”

“Why?” Qui-Gon growled, then went back to flicking his tongue over the swollen nub.

“Think I know. . . what it is,” he moaned. “Think you’ll like it too.”

“Find it, then,” was the curt answer

Most of his mind fogged with passion, it took him a moment to remember where he’d put the small box, then call it to him. It snapped into his hand as Qui-Gon came up for air.

“Well?”

“Give me a moment,” Obi-Wan laughed shakily, fumbling with the wrapping.

“My patience is far too thin for more than that,” Qui-Gon murmured, frowning, chest rising and falling rapidly.

At last, Obi-Wan got through the intricate arrangement of paper, ties, and seals conspiring to make his frustration and curiosity peak together, and the box opened under his fingers. Two jewels winked at him from inside, sea-green, smooth, and tear-drop-shaped, each suspended from a tiny screw clamp. A fine gold chain ran between the clamps. Obi-Wan swallowed heavily.

“Very nice. They match your eyes,” Qui-Gon agreed. “Shall I put them on you?”

“Yes please,” Obi-Wan said, hands shaking as he gave them over. In a moment he felt the metal bite first one nipple, then the other, the pressure sharp and steady, the weight of the stones pulling subtly. Qui-Gon flicked one and the sensation of it rocking made Obi-Wan’s cock jump almost painfully. He moaned quietly, eyes closed, shaking, feeling Qui-Gon pull away from him.

“Stay there a moment,” he heard, and opened his eyes to find Qui-Gon looking at him, the point of his tongue moistening his lips hungrily. “Little Gods, Obi-Wan,” he breathed, “you’re the most devilishly seductive, erotic thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

* * *

 

Bruck wasn’t sure how long he’d been out there, sucking in the night air, when he heard the balcony door open. He didn’t bother moving, not caring if he were seen or not, half welcoming the distraction. But whoever it was stepped away to the other end and he saw a silhouette lean against the railing, resting its chin on folded arms. Hard to tell in this light and state of intoxication whether it was male, female, or something else. Humanoid, definitely. He looked harder. Female, he suspected; the legs seemed bare and pale in his untrustworthy vision. And unlike the subject of the party, most of the padawans and young knights who’d attended had done so, like Bruck, in their best civilian party clothes, not Jedi blacks.

He heard a soft sigh, something that might have been a very quiet sniffle, then an equally quiet voice say “Shit.” The silhouette turned its face into the crook of arms resting on the balcony railing. A braid swung down off one shoulder.

Bruck cleared his throat, not wanting to startle or embarrass someone who’d come out for some privacy, but there was no immediate reaction. Then he felt a tentative wash of Force touch his mind, let it slip through his wobbly shields far enough to identify him, and heard a laugh. “Shit,” she said again.

“You okay?” he asked.

She turned then, and in the light from inside, he could see her better: curly hair, almost the color of Ben’s but worn longer, a longish fuzzy braid, a curling, bouncy tail. Below the pale oval face with its sprinkling of freckles, a long graceful neck and a creamy expanse of cleavage in the low-cut neckline.

“I guess if you are, I should be,” she said sourly.

“Isa Kassir, right?” he said, recognizing her and wondering what her remark meant.

“Yeah. That’s me,” she said, sounding weary of it. “Sorry to disturb you. I didn’t realize anyone else was out here. If I’m that far gone, I’d probably just better go home.”

“You’re not on curfew are you?”

“No. Not for the last year. Just not going home with the person I’d hoped to.”

The bark of laughter out of Bruck startled both of them. “Yeah, me either. He’s already got a hot date.”

“Well, at least he knows you’re alive,” she snorted disgustedly.

“Kenobi?” Bruck said in some confusion.

“No, his friend Nori Saalkko.”

Obviously, he was too drunk to have this conversation. Then he managed to sort out the meaning, realizing that both of them had been solipsistically referring to their own miseries. “Oh. Hmm, got th’ hots for Nori, huh?” Bruck said with the wisdom of the grandly smashed.

She nodded miserably and slid down beside him, short skirt riding up around her thighs. Long legs, Bruck observed idly. She tucked her feet together and hugged her knees to her. He passed her his glass companionably. She took a sip and sputtered. “Sith hells! What is that? Etching acid?”

He took the glass back indignantly. “I’s 21-year-old Corellian single gran.”

“Oh, and that makes it not rotgut?” she laughed.

“No, tha’ makes it a very fine, _mature_ rotgut,” he corrected.

“Tastes like cleaning fluid.”

“An’ you’d know?”

“I’ve had some very fine, _mature_ cleaning fluid in my day,” she grinned.

Bruck returned the grin, deciding he liked her. “Well, if y’want more, I’ll just set it here between us.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ve had enough for the night. I’ll fall off my heels.”

“That’d be embarrassin’. Nori might see.”

“That would be a disaster,” she moaned. “On the other hand, he might notice me then.”

“Hard not t’notice you,” Bruck said thoughtfully. “Fallin’ off your heels or otherwise.” _Lots to notice, in fact,_ he thought. When had that happened?

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan watched the trickle of sweat sliding down the long column of the older man’s neck as though it were the only water he’d seen for days. “Men in uniform have always been your weakness,” Obi-Wan murmured, mesmerized by the look on Qui-Gon’s face. In it was desire, lust, need, love, and something hungry, something that had not been fed in a long, long time. He’d never seen Qui-Gon’s emotions so . . . naked, before. It was exhilarating, deeply gratifying, and a little frightening.

“Just one man in uniform,” Qui-Gon corrected hoarsely, drinking in the sight of his beloved. “And you’re only half in it.” Obi-Wan was fully aware of the picture he must present in his tight black pants and high black boots, kneeling on the white sheets with his master’s braid tight around his throat like a rope or collar and his nipples pinched and swollen, drops of green fire dangling from them, glinting gold chain linking them. Either unable or unwilling to contain himself any longer, Qui-Gon closed the distance between them, bowling Obi-Wan over backwards and spreading himself across every inch he could reach, chain and clamps digging into both of them, covering his lover’s mouth with his own and swallowing the moans and cries as they kissed again.

It was, like the first one, less a kiss than a taking and Obi-Wan refused to give easily. Willingly, yes, but he made Qui-Gon earn it, fight for it. He sank his hands into his former master’s hair, tangled their legs, and fought for control, rolling them both across the bed until they nearly ended up on the floor. Obi-Wan, on top now, sat up, straddled the long bare body beneath him, and raked his fingers down the glistening chest, leaving faint red trails and carefully avoiding the new, deeply puckered scar on the older Jedi’s abdomen. Qui-Gon arched up into him, heavy cock sliding against his still-clothed ass.

“Still hurt?” Obi-Wan said, leaning down and worrying a rose-brown nipple with his teeth.

Qui-Gon tried to grasp a handful of hair, couldn’t, and shifted to the back of Obi-Wan’s neck instead. “It’s tender. The Healers said it would be for some time,” he said breathlessly.

“I’ll be careful.”

“I know you will. But you’re wearing too many clothes.”

“You’ll have to get me out of them,” he rumbled, teeth showing in a feral grin, and a moment later found himself twisted and levered off Qui-Gon’s chest and trapped on his back between long, powerful legs, arms pinned with the Force.

“Cheating,” Obi-Wan gasped as Qui-Gon’s hand slid inside his tight pants and squeezed his erection.

“Experience and cunning over youth and strength, Knight Kenobi,” Qui-Gon replied sternly, slowly opening the fastenings. “And you’re not trying very hard. Is that the best you can do? Or,” he began, looking up into Obi-Wan’s eyes, new knowledge dawning in his own, “is this what you want, that I should take you like this?”

It was the opening he’d been waiting for. Obi-Wan let down what little remained of his shields, flooding both of them with everything he was feeling: desire, arousal, joy, trust, love. Qui-Gon seemed overcome for a moment, and shivered, looking suddenly vulnerable. “Let go,” Obi-Wan said quietly, stroking his thighs. “Do as you will. Master me, Qui-Gon. The way we’ve both wanted.”

 

* * *

 

“Bit of a diz, isn’t he?” Bruck observed in characteristic foot-in-mouth fashion. “Nori, I mean. For somebody like you.”

“What do you mean?” Isa said, tone turning suspicious.

“Oh, just . . .” Bruck waved a hand vaguely, now sorry he’d said anything. “Fizzy, like champagne. Not alotta substance.”

“Enough to be a padawan,” she said defensively.

“Oh, yeah. ‘N pass his trials, too. But the kind of missions he’ll get—the kinds he and his master get now—are a lot of ceremonial things ‘n’ bodyguardin’. He’s a retriever. Good at finding stuff and bringin’ it home safe. Nice guy,” he qualified, “but you’re doin’ harder work than he is.”

“How do you know?” she said a little hotly. “How do you know anything about—oh, Kenobi’s told you.”

“Yeah. I kinda owe you a favor, I think. For gettin’ those records a while back.”

She waved it away in the darkness. “That was easy. Very low-level security.”

“See? That’s what I mean. He’s a retriever, you’re a hunter.”

She made a noncommital kind of noise and said nothing. Silence fell between them, not exactly comfortable, but not tense either. And she hadn’t gotten up and walked away, something it was so easy to do. Still, Bruck sensed something in the silence that made him nervous, and decided he’d better sober up a bit. When he’d cleared most of the fumes out of his head, he reached for the glass sitting between them, just for a taste this time, met Isa’s fingers on it, his over hers, and both of them laughed. Her fingers were long and thin like his own, the skin much softer, though he was sure the palm sides were as calloused as his own from saberwork.

“Listen,” she said slowly as he let go, letting her take the glass, “I think I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“I, uh, let my curiosity get the best of my judgement,” she admitted, holding the glass tightly between her hands, as though it were something that could protect her. “I read your files before I gave them to Kenobi.”

Bruck thought he should feel embarrassed, or angry, or betrayed, or something, and was surprised to find it didn’t seem to matter much. At this moment, it all seemed a long time ago, in the very distant past, a discovery that gave him much satisfaction. _Just where it should be,_ he thought. Isa seemed very embarrassed though, clutching the glass to her, eyes focused on its contents. He could almost feel her cheeks burning in the small space between them.

“Well, I guess I don’t have any secrets from you then, do I?” he said easily, touching her hand.

 

* * *

 

The older Jedi froze for a heartbeat, breath caught in his lungs. _//Courage, My Master,//_ Obi-Wan coaxed him.

“You will tell me ‘No,’ if it feels wrong,” he said decisively, only a moment later. Qui-Gon was nothing if not decisive. _Seize the moment. Damn the consequences._ Obi-Wan had seen it again and again at negotiations, bargaining tables, battles. Qui-Gon had an almost unerring sense of which way to lean when a situation was poised on a fulcrum, of which path to take at the fork.

“I will,” Obi-Wan assured him in a calm voice.

“One word—‘No’—and I’ll stop,” Qui-Gon repeated, pulse pounding visibly in his throat. Obi-Wan nodded, serene, clear-eyed, anticipatory. “Good. Stand up. Take your clothes off. Face the mirror.”

Obi-Wan obeyed, remembering a night many years ago when he had also stood before his master, naked under his scrutiny, enduring his detached inspection and emotionless touch. It had, at first, excited him unbearably, and then, when he realized how hard Qui-Gon was reining himself in and that he had locked all his own emotions away, reducing his apprentice to an object and his own actions to nothing more than painful intimidation—as though Obi-Wan were merely some wild, untamable thing that Qui-Gon had to break to his will—it had only humiliated him. Tonight, there was the same clear undercurrent of need—to own, to control, to truly master, but also to lay claim to—that Obi-Wan could meet with his own need to surrender himself, finally and utterly, to offer his unwavering trust, his unshakeable belief in this man, something neither of them had been able to do freely before tonight. He knew Qui-Gon was gentle enough, loved him enough to hold his gift without crushing it, and that he was strong enough himself to give it.

Boots and pants in a heap beside the bed, Obi-Wan watched in the long mirror as Qui-Gon looked his lover up and down with hot, hooded eyes then prowled around him as though examining a statue, repeating the actions of that night, but with fire—hunger—replacing the cold distance. When he had made one complete circuit, he started again, this time with his hand trailing along Obi-Wan’s waist, over slim hipbones and sculpted musculature, until he stood behind his former apprentice, who was breathing even faster than he had been.

Qui-Gon pressed himself against the younger man’s bare flesh, hard cock at the small of his back, hands sliding up his chest, calloused fingertips rasping his skin, tugging the chain strung between his nipples, flicking the clamps. Obi-Wan whimpered a little, trying not to close his eyes, wanting to see everything.

“You will not speak and you will not move, unless I say,” Qui-Gon hissed. “Nod if you understand and agree.”

Obi-Wan swallowed heavily, heart pounding, and nodded. It was a game they played now by mutual agreement, and Obi-Wan would obey in part because he found it familiar and yet arousing to be passive, and in part because the limits of the game had changed tonight and he hoped he would see a side of his oh-so-controlled master that Qui-Gon seldom, if ever, showed anyone. He wanted Qui to trust him in this as much as he trusted his former master.

Qui-Gon ground his cock against the hard round globes of Obi-Wan’s ass while his fingers continued to play with the clamps and stones on his lover’s nipples until the flesh was painfully sensitive and hard. Obi-Wan arched into those touches and Qui-Gon’s hands fell away as he stepped back. “Don’t move unless and until I tell you and how I tell you to,” he repeated, voice gone as hard as his cock. Obi-Wan froze obediently, wanting those huge hands on his skin again, tormenting his flesh so skillfully. He would do anything for it. Anything. His own cock was twitching, leaking pre-cum, and Qui-Gon reached to smooth it over his aching shaft with one hard stroke then let him go. It was all Obi-Wan could do to keep his hips still and remain silent under the torment of those hands and of their fickleness.

Then they returned, flowing over his body: over his shoulders, around his waist, over the back of his neck, down his spine, Qui-Gon’s mouth following, consuming him. He nipped and licked his way up to the back of Obi-Wan’s neck then down across his shoulder blade and down his ribs, his teeth leaving indentations, his mouth leaving an imprimatur of round, painless marks as he sucked blood to the surface of skin. “Mine,” he growled. “Always mine.” Obi-Wan shuddered, the words unbearably erotic. He wanted to hear them over and over while watching and feeling Qui-Gon’s hands and mouth claim him, mark him. Those hands squeezed Obi-Wan’s ass hard enough to bruise, raked the creased V of flesh from his hips to his groin, flowed over the insides of his thighs, spreading his legs, down his knees and calves, and trailed fire and ice back up his legs, stroked over every part of him but his cock, until he was panting and trembling, his skin in flames. There was nothing like this touch. No one else could do this to him. No one.

Having explored nearly every inch of his lover’s skin, Qui-Gon came back to the raised and darkened welts of the pictograms for passion and serenity running vertically between Obi-Wan’s shoulder blades, where the younger man had insisted Qui-Gon incise them at the end of the fear exercises. Looking back now, they both admitted it had been an extreme action, but one that had been necessary. What Obi-Wan had only suspected later was that the pain Qui-Gon had inflicted on him that night had been shared by his master, and that had bound them together as much as the healing and loving afterwards.

Necessary or not, it had been a difficult choice, and more difficult, Obi-Wan knew, for Qui-Gon to carry out. Obi-Wan had the sort of pale, delicate skin one could write on lightly with a fingernail and have it show a few moments later in a flushed line of heat, and even Qui-Gon had thought it a crime to mar it. So he had, instead, decorated it, as he embellished his own deceptively simple poems with an exquisite calligraphy. The marks were carefully done, a work of art in flesh, stained a deep blue and raised slightly, texturally as well as visually pleasing. Obi-Wan also knew his master had caught all unholy Sith hell from the Council for doing it. Through the rumor mill, he had heard about the tongue lashing from both Yoda and Mace, the exasperation from Plo, the outright contempt from Master Tiin, and seen the disappointment and disapproval of the rest of Qui-Gon’s masters had demonstrated even outside the Council chamber. It had rolled off him like rain from an oilskin. Obi-Wan had insisted on using his pain to rebuild their severed bond, and for Qui-Gon that was all that had mattered.

Now, the older man drew the shape of his own initials at the base of his lover’s spine, where he had not felt he had the right to complete the ritual that night, though Obi-Wan had wanted him to. The younger man shivered, a moan of desire rising in his throat, quickly stifled.

“Shall I finish it? Would you like that?” Qui-Gon asked softly, hands on his lover’s hips, cock rubbing languidly against the spot. Obi-Wan’s heart began to pound harder, rocking him against his lover’s hard, lean body. “Would you? You may speak. One word only.”

“Yes!” Obi-Wan groaned, ready to beg, should he be allowed to, remembering that ecstasy. His heart beat wildly at the thought of finally having an unmistakable sign of Qui-Gon’s ownership blatantly and permanently apparent on his body.

His lover backed away and moved around in front of him. When he was certain Obi-Wan was watching him, he found the tie from his hair he had worn earlier and knelt before him. A pleasurable quiver of apprehension ran through Obi-Wan, seeing his master kneeling before him, holding the long, heavy, beaded tieback of leather in one hand, a gift Obi-Wan had given him several years ago to wear on special occasions. Qui-Gon watched him, leaning closer, teasing, blowing softly on his erection, and Obi-Wan shuddered again with want, knowing his lover was not about to put that beautiful hungry mouth around his—

And then he did, taking him in to the root and sucking hard, once; it took Obi-Wan so much by surprise that he cried out and clutched Qui-Gon’s hair, nearly coming. Mortified, he let go immediately, dropping his hands to his sides and averting his eyes.

“See how I can play you? Have you so little control, my knight?” Qui-Gon’s voice was silky and amused. “I can see I shall have to punish your lack of control and help you keep it.”

He nearly gasped again when Qui-Gon wrapped the center of the thong twice around the root of his swollen cock, brought the ends down in front of his scrotum and then up again behind—tugging smartly so his testicles separated—crossed them behind and tied the ends in front with a sturdy slip knot. His cock and balls began to ache almost immediately, the beads creating pressure points and the thong’s ends hanging down enough to brush over the sensitized skin of his scrotum in a maddening sensation somewhere between itch and tickle. Obi-Wan’s eyes glazed and he broke out in a fine sweat. Air seemed in short supply suddenly. Thought was impossible. His jaw worked as he swallowed the moan crawling up his throat. This was marvelous. Better than he’d hoped for.

Large hands turned him so he was sideways to the mirror. “Bend over. Brace yourself on your knees. Keep your back straight and flat,” Qui-Gon barked at him, getting up and disappearing from view.

Obi-Wan did as he was told—of course he did—leaning over with hands just above his knees, waiting, trembling, genitals throbbing, wanting Qui-Gon to touch him, touch him any way, do anything, just touch him. He heard quiet rummaging and then nothing. Qui-Gon was making him wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And . . .wait.

His back began to ache and his arms and shoulders to burn. Finally, his former master reappeared in the mirror, wrapped in the beautiful but outrageously expensive blue silk robe Obi-Wan had given him. The color made his eyes all the more blue, or would have, had they not been dilated so widely.

“Back straight, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon snapped suddenly. His former apprentice swallowed heavily and complied, declining to release any of the pain into the Force. That was, after all, one of the objects of the exercise. He wondered when it had become an exercise, when or if Qui-Gon would ever stop teaching him. It seemed not. _As it should be,_ he thought, deeply relieved and surprised at finding himself so.

“Can you see yourself?” Qui-Gon murmured, watching his face in the mirror. “Look.” Obi-Wan knew then that the older man had simply been looking at him in that far too tempting position, and began to see himself through his lover’s eyes. His chest rose and fell a little unevenly and his skin had a fine sheen of sweat that glowed in the low lights. The clamps dangled from his nipples, sparkling in the light, chain hanging in a graceful loop. Obi-Wan’s hair was spiky and a little darkened by sweat, but still that reddish-gold Qui-Gon loved. He felt Qui-Gon’s gaze falling, watched in the mirror as it lingered on the smooth flanks and cords of muscle in Obi-Wan’s thighs and calves; the pale blue veins snaking below the tender skin behind his knees; the thin line of tendon at his ankle; the buttocks that invited squeezing—or even the paddling Obi-Wan enjoyed—and the heavy, bound genitals below. After several minutes, his arms and legs began to tremble and his back bow in the uncomfortable position, and he evened out his own breathing to regain control of himself, felt Qui-Gon’s admiration through their bond. _Beautiful. Powerful. Sexual. Sensual. Mine!_

The older Jedi visibly shook himself from his admiring—and obviously intoxicating—reverie, set the wooden box he was carrying down on the bed beside them, and slid back the lid. Inside, were his calligraphy inks, powdered colors, and brushes—as well as the fine vibroblades and needles Qui-Gon used with just as much skill. He paused a moment, apparently thinking to lay his tools out, but the position Obi-Wan was in was just as obviously much too tempting.

Instead, he stood behind his lover, coated two fingers with the cool lubricant they favored and stroked that tight entrance to Obi-Wan’s body. He quivered like an animal about to spring and gripped his knees tighter. “Pay attention,” Qui-Gon directed. And Obi-Wan did, as his lover slowly pushed his fingers inside. Obi-Wan’s knees nearly buckled as he watched those long, blunt fingers penetrating him, but he managed to remain as he was, shivering with the need to push back against them. Qui-Gon stroked inside that tight heat, his own pulse quickening visibly in his neck. Unerringly, he found Obi-Wan’s prostate and fingered it hard, forcing a strangled sound, almost a whimper, out of his throat.

“How much can you stand, little one? In silence, without moving? How obedient are you?” Qui-Gon murmured, bending over him now, running his palm along the younger man’s spine, still working the fingers inside him. Obi-Wan was breathing heavily, sweat beginning to run in rivulets over his skin. Qui-Gon licked them from his back. “Breathe into, through it. Sharpen it, hold it ready. I want you to be ready for me.”

One last hard rake over his prostate and the fingers withdrew. Qui-Gon was trying to kill him, he felt certain. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t practiced such exercises before, hadn’t brought each other to the edge and held each other there. But not like this, not as he was tonight, bound and aching, submitting himself to silence and the invisible, voluntary shackles of obedience. Nor had there had ever been a threat of . . . punishment . . . before. Tonight there was nothing to restrain Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan had no doubt what that punishment would be, should he disobey. Not anything so simple as physical pain. No, worse, he would have to live with Qui-Gon’s disappointment in him, and his own sense of failure. On this night, of all times, the thought was unendurable.

Whatever it took, he would obey. He would hold himself back. He would be ready. He would prove to his master that he had learned well under those hard hands.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry,” Isa reiterated, still sounding ashamed. “I had no right snooping into your business. I’m sure that’s not what Kenobi expected when he asked me to get those records.”

Bruck snorted. “No, probably not,” he said wryly. “But he didn’t have to ask you for them either and he’s got about as much right to them as you do.” That didn’t seem to comfort her much. “Listen, Padawan Kassir,” Bruck said as nonchalantly as he could, “I did a lot of very stupid things when I was younger, and I did them right out in public. Whatever reputation I’ve got’s my own fault. The things that the Council decided to hush up had very little to do with me, except that I was a witness to stuff they’d rather no one else knew about. I’ve kept quiet all these years; you’re sure not going to tell anybody. I mean, you haven’t yet, have you?” She shook her head, still not looking at him. “Then I don’t think you know much more about me than anybody else does. And I don’t think it matters. I’d have been kind of surprised if you hadn’t read them. I would have, in your position. That’s the kind of thing you and your master specialize in, isn’t it? I imagine you were just honing your skills.”

“You’re a lot more generous about it than I’d be, Padawan Chun,” she said quietly.

“I can afford to be,” Bruck replied, not unkindly. “Are you gonna drink that or just hold it?”

Isa laughed and took another sip, then passed it back. “It doesn’t improve the second time around.”

“Can I get you something else?”

“You could, but I shouldn’t.”

“Why not? You’re only drunk for as long as you want to be, when you’re a Jedi.”

“That sounds like it should be a drinking song,” she giggled. Bruck couldn’t think of the last time he’d heard someone actually giggle at something he’d said. _She’s cute,_ he thought. _Dangerous, but cute._

“Probably is. It sounds like one of those secrets our masters keep from us until we’re knighted. Can’t you just see the council sitting around at a table, glasses and steins slopping as they wave them—” he stopped because she’d gone beyond giggling into laughter, and that was what he’d wanted. “So what’s your ‘something else’?”

“Black Holes,” she replied, wiping her eyes, naming a dastardly concoction of several different liqueurs served straight, so named because once you’d had one, you were already beyond the event horizon of intoxication.

“Really?” he said, impressed. “Guess I wasn’t far off. If you can drink those, you are dangerous.”

He could almost feel her disappointment and didn’t know what to make of it. “Is that what you think I am?”

“Aren’t you? Weren’t you about 13 when you busted up Ben—Obi-Wan’s and Qui-Gon’s training bond?”

“Fourteen,” she winced. “I had to—”

“Hey, nobody blamed you. But it was pretty extraordinary anyway. And you and your master get some pretty dangerous assignments. About on par with Qui-Gon’s, if a different type.”

She sighed and sank her chin onto her knees. “That’s what Nori said, too, when I asked him out.”

“What?”

“‘Too dangerous for me.’ Of all the ridiculous—Can you believe it?”

“Of Nori? Yeah. Like I said. All fizz, no substance. Of course you scare him. You’ve got telepathic abilities like Councillor Tiin, can break training bonds with a mere thought, crack just about any comp security system around, and you drink Black Holes. I’d be scared too, if I had any sense.”

“I’m not a scary person, dammit!” She snarled, then hid her face in the crook of her arms again.

 

* * *

 

The tools were laid out on the table of his back: ink, colors, brushes . . . blades. And Qui-Gon waited, again. This time, Obi-Wan endured it calmly, if not with complete serenity.

Finally, he felt his former master’s hands on him, soothing him, easing away the tremors in his body.

“Don’t move, little one,” Qui-Gon said in a surprisingly gentle tone. _I know you can do this,_ that tone said. _I know you are that strong, I know how much control you have. I trust you._ “Ready? Speak. One word.”

“Yes.”

A moment later, he felt the brush flow over his skin, nearly light enough to tickle, felt the letters taking shape as Qui-Gon wrote and drew the pattern he would follow with the blades. The work proceeded slowly and it seemed very elaborate for the three letters of a monogram. Three letters that would remind Obi-Wan—and anyone else who saw—of his owner, teacher, lover, heart’s desire. Let it be as elaborate as possible, he thought.

He wished, suddenly, that it were going to be in a more visible place, though he knew this was not possible. The Council had intensely disapproved of Qui-Gon marking him the first time, which had bothered Qui-Gon not at all. His master’s indifference to their opinion soothed his own qualms, and he, in fact, found the scars much admired in the changing rooms—anticipation of which had no doubt prompted the Council’s disapproval to begin with. But he was older now, and saw the reason for their objections and agreed with it, for the most part.

Yet what he had with Qui-Gon, what they had of and with each other, demanded this visible sign of their commitment. It was another ceremonial symbol, like the first padawan haircut, the Trials, the vigil, the cutting of his braid, the head-to-the-floor bow on the knees at the bestowal of the master’s cloak, the face-down prostration of new Council members as they were sworn in. Each event had its responsibilities illustrated outwardly by some physical task or sign. This was their own ceremony, their own reminder of the responsibilities they had chosen to bear for each other.

Qui-Gon’s brush stopped. “Ready?” he asked again. “You may speak. One word.”

“Yes, My Master,” he replied fervently, disobeying the order and not caring, needing to say those words, needing Qui-Gon to hear them.

“Do not fail me, little one,” Qui-Gon said harshly. “There are consequences. I would have pleasured you more while the ink dried. Instead, you will have to watch. Show me where you want me,” his lover ordered. Legs wide for a balance that felt very precarious, Obi-Wan reached back and held himself open. He was sweating again, his skin slippery, and he hoped he wouldn’t lose his grip. At least not literally. In other ways, he was just barely hanging on already.

“Here?” Qui-Gon stroked a wet, slick finger over the puckered muscle. “One word.”

“Yes!” _Yes! Fuck me, yes! Fuck me senseless,_ he was ready to scream but knew that would only delay what he wanted.

“But you disobeyed my commands, little one,” Qui-Gon reminded him, still stroking. His hand strayed lower, squeezed Obi-Wan’s tormented balls. Swallowing a moan, he lifted himself up on his toes, reflexively trying to get away, nearly losing his balance.

“Stand still,” Qui-Gon said sharply. “Look up, Obi-Wan.”

Immediately, Obi-Wan obeyed, watching as Qui-Gon moved around in front of him and stood just out of reach. Watching as he untied the sash of his robe, letting it fall open, revealing a tantalizing swath of skin and his engorged cock and—Obi-Wan’s eyes widened--a gold ring peeping out from beneath the foreskin. Obi-Wan licked his lips and swallowed. Little gods! That was almost . . . pornographic. Lurid. Astonishing.

“You’d like this, wouldn’t you?” Qui-Gon stroked himself, thumb caressing the gold ring in the crown. His eyes closed briefly as he gave himself up to the sensation. “A taste, perhaps?” he murmured. Qui-Gon moved a little closer and Obi-Wan found himself leaning in toward him, unmindful of the objects on his shoulders or that he was still holding himself open. “Stand still, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon snapped. “Show me you’ve earned your knighthood.” He stroked himself again, hips thrusting into his own hand. “You’d like this in you, fucking you hard, wouldn’t you? Like this?”

Obi-Wan felt the blood rush from his head like water from draining sink. His bound genitals throbbed painfully and he wasn’t sure how much more he could stand.

Qui-Gon’s hand moved faster, the other stroked over his own skin, caressing where Obi-Wan wanted to, following the path he would have chosen: the hollow of throat, collarbones, nipples, fingers raking the fine scars on his ribs, flat hand across his belly, thumb dipping into the navel and dragging down, diving below the working hand to fondle and stroke his own balls. His master had closed his eyes, seemed oblivious to anything but his own pleasure now.

Obi-Wan could feel himself starting to whine, fought himself to keep from squirming, from letting his own fingers caress himself. He wanted Qui-Gon so badly, any way he could have him. The man was so beautiful, his head tipped back, his mouth open, breathing heavily, throat working as he swallowed, gasping as his fingers stroked over and tugged repeatedly at that wonderful, unreachable gold ring. Surely he wasn’t going to bring himself off without— Then Qui-Gon’s hips jerked as he pumped convulsively into his own hand, cum splashing into the other. Obi-Wan felt his hopes of a good hard fuck evaporating.

“Still watching, little one? Good,” Qui-Gon purred. “You look so hungry.” He stepped forward and held his cupped hand out to Obi-Wan, who bent his head and obediently lapped at it as though his master’s cum were cream in a bowl, licking his lover’s hand and fingers clean.

“Have you learned to keep your silence?” Obi-Wan nodded mournfully. “Good. Then we will proceed.”

Qui-Gon mapped out with his fingertip the borders of the area he would work in. Remembering the procedure though it had been a some years, Obi-Wan concentrated on drawing the blood supply away from the surface of his lower back in that area. Qui-Gon touched it again and his palm was comfortingly warm on the now-icy patch of skin. He barely felt the cool spray of sterilizing solution, only wetness, drying quickly. And something icy cold pressed against his opening, working its way inside insidiously, flowing into him like water, but filling him solidly and—expanding. “Hands on your knees.” He broke into a sweat again, quivering as the thing inside him rippled against his prostate while Qui-Gon leaned over him and hissed into his ear, “Don’t move!”

Then the touch of the first blade.

He wanted to cry out, torn between the pain of the blade and the astonishing sensation inside him. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, not in all the explorations they’d made of one another’s bodies. The thing sealed itself against him in a flange that lay coldly against his anus while it squirmed inside him, filling him the way Qui-Gon’s cock did, sending sheets of cold flame through him, leaving him sheened in sweat. His cock and balls throbbed so hard he nearly forgot the pain of the blade.

Not a knife, really. More like a blur of motion, the vibroblade, sanding his skin, flaying it, impossibly messy if not wielded with delicacy. Gods it hurt. He’d forgotten how much it hurt. First the sting then the burning then the throb. It would only get worse as the blade stripped away more and more skin. He could have deadened the nerves there, for the duration, but that would be both dangerous so near his spine and, again, negate the exercise.

He knew for certain that’s what it was now, more than anything: a test of his control, his master’s final exam, as it were. What else could explain his fiendish coupling of the scarring’s pain with the ecstasy this object inside him ignited? The thing throbbed warmly now, like a heartbeat, sending thrilling pulses through him that wound him up like a crank and left him quivering with tension and the need to—just—move—knowing he could not. He wanted to rock his pelvis with it, thrust into something, if only his own fist, moan, howl, go to his knees. But Qui-Gon had tangled him in this net of obedience as surely as if he were physically restrained.

And it felt wonderful.

He’d wanted this for so long, to be able to give himself to Qui-Gon this way, and to let his master truly be his master in every way, as he suspected Qui-Gon had wanted for years himself. He’d known this was something they both wanted when Qui-Gon had first carved the Danjii symbols on his back and had made love to him while he’d done so. Amidst all the pain that had bled back and forth across the new bond they’d been forging was a deep excitement and satisfaction not his own—not in the pain itself, but in Obi-Wan’s submission and pleasure.

He’d also learned a few things about himself since that night and the pain exercises when being tortured had made him come harder than he ever had in his life—mostly to stop fretting about the way his body reacted to stimuli and just enjoy it. The entwined pain and pleasure coursed through his body in waves, starting at the small of his back and propagating outward like echoes, through his torso and limbs, making his bound genitals throb in sympathy. It was a little like orgasming, heightening his senses the same way, sensitizing his nerves, one sensation negating and heightening the other by turns, finally blending together until there was no telling one from the other and all of it was the same—a tight, hot coil of ecstasy smoldering in his groin.

If the brushwork had seemed to take a long time, this was interminable. It was no mere outline of the letters, but a raw surface between those outlines, following the delicate shape of the brush strokes, from fine points to broad curves. Sweat ran into his eyes, down his face, dripped off his nose and chin onto the floor. It ran down his back into the fresh abrasions, adding to the pain. The skin on the small of his back felt fiery. And he was so desperately aroused he thought his cock and balls might burst, throbbing with each heartbeat.

“Stay perfectly still,” Qui-Gon told him. Not a muscle twitched. He breathed only enough to stay conscious and control the pain, inhaling at the top of his lungs so as not to move his lower back.

At last, Qui-Gon stepped back, signaling the end of this part of the process, and the thing inside went quiescent. Tenderly, he wiped the sweat from Obi-Wan’s back and face and chest. “Well done, My Obi-Wan. Speak as you must.”

“ _Bo Chuuda!_ ” Obi-Wan shouted the Huttese expletive. It seemed an appropriate epithet for purging.

“Brace yourself,” Qui-Gon warned him when he had caught his breath again.

Another mist of sterilizing solution. This time it felt as though Qui-Gon had poured a flammable liquid on the wounds and set them afire. He breathed through the wave of agony, released it into the Force, rode it like a swimmer body surfing, channeled it into his arousal, feeling his balls trying desperately to tighten against his shaft, restrained by the leather thong. Almost time. When he came back to himself again, Qui-Gon was already sifting over his skin the powder that would color and raise the keloids. When the area was thoroughly covered, he lay his large hands over it, hovering above the skin only a hair’s-breadth from the wounds. The power of the Force coming from those hands was like balm, healing and warm, but taking little of the pain. And there was still the throbbing ache in his balls and cock that he thought might yet kill him. He wanted Qui-Gon inside him urgently.

Long moments later, Qui-Gon cleaned the excess powder from his skin and again wiped the sweat away, then ran his hands over the small of his lover’s back so they could both feel the new work, Qui-Gon as low welts and Obi-Wan as a locus of pain and pressure under his lover’s fingers. “Beautiful, my love.” The older man leaned down and kissed the healed scars, following their pattern with his tongue.

“Qui—” Obi-Wan shuddered, an ecstatic agony flowing through him from his newly scarred back and bound genitals and pulses of rapture from the reawakened thing inside him.

“Silence, little one.” His lover reached around and stroked his cock. Obi-Wan bit back a cry. “I haven’t forgotten you,” he whispered, stroking the flange that lay against him until the cool smoothness flowed out of him again.

A warm tongue licked along his fresh scars again, descended lower, into the cleft in his ass. Thumbs spread him as though breaking open some ripened fruit, first one then the other slipping inside and opening him. His lower back and genitals throbbed with a new rush of blood as Qui-Gon licked and circled and probed. Obi-Wan was trembling now, all over, and couldn’t stop, his skin slick with sweat. Nor could he stop the low whine in his throat.

“Tell me what you need, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon ordered, drawing back and leaning over him again, one hand stroking the new scars, stirring the pain anew.

“Yes, My Master,” Obi-Wan gasped. “Please, My Master—I need—I need to come, My Master.”

“Oh, not yet, surely,” Qui-Gon replied with mock disbelief.

“Yes, My Master. Please!”

“Please, what, Obi-Wan? You must tell me what you want.”

“Please, My Master, fuck me.” He pitched his voice low, made it as sultry as he could, knowing that was Qui-Gon’s weakness. His lover’s cock, obviously recovered, rubbed against his ass. Hope returned.

“On your knees,” Qui-Gon growled. Obi-Wan scrambled to comply, panting. Oh, gods, everything might fall off soon, he thought. _Castrated on my first day of knighthood._

Something slithered over the new scars on his back and he shivered and flinched reflexively.

“Live in the moment, little one,” his lover admonished. “Hands behind your back.” Qui-Gon took his sash and tied his hands together snugly, but not enough to cut off his circulation, then wrapped the ends around his waist and tied them again, leaving him thoroughly trussed.

“Forehead to the floor.”

Obi-Wan complied, falling into the traditional kneeling bow position, with the exception of his tied hands. It felt oddly respectful, which both gave him a strange twinge of satisfaction and put his ass conveniently in the air.

“Spread your legs.”

Again, Obi-Wan complied and felt Qui-Gon position himself between them, one hand reaching under him to stroke a fingernail up the underside of his cock. Obi-Wan made a strangled sound.

“Make all the noise you need to, little one. Beg if you like. But don’t move.”

His master knelt behind Obi-Wan, running his hands over his ass, once more tracing his work with a finger first and then with his tongue, hot and painful and soothing all at once. Again, that tongue went lower, down the cleft of his ass and he felt himself spread by those large hands, then laved and rimmed and thoroughly licked until he was whining and trying desperately not to writhe. “Qui-gods-don’t-stop-I-want-you-inside-me-fuck-me-hurts-I-can’t-stand-it-hurry-more-harder-now-yes—” he babbled as though all the things he’d wanted to say and been forbidden to were coming out at once.

Two large, slick fingers drove into him and he was ready, so ready, trembling, wanting to rock back into them, wanting more. A third finger joined the first two, stretching and twisting, stroking his prostate, bringing him right to the edge, right to the edge, stopping, holding him there with another stroke, holding—

—withdrawing . . .

“No . . .” Obi-Wan moaned. “Oh gods no!”

And Qui-Gon sat back on his heels, his own breathing fast and harsh, not touching him at all.

“Qui, don’t stop! Please!” Obi-Wan cried.

“You told me to,” his lover replied innocently, a trace of amused devilment in his voice.

“What?” he yelped, incredulous, then realized what he had said. “My mistake, My Master,” he panted. “Don’t stop. Please, gods, don’t stop. So close. Killing me.”

“And you like it, don’t you?” Qui-Gon growled. “Now?”

“Gods, yes, yes, yes—O. . .”

His speech deteriorated into wordless, desperate noises of pleasure as Qui-Gon’s cock pressed against him, opened him, plunged into him hard and fast, pounded him, the ring stroking him deep inside. Obi-Wan, forehead still to the floor, cried out, gloried in it, body rocking with each thrust, wanting more. The pressure building in his balls was unbelievable, and he was so close to coming that lights were flashing against his eyelids and his pulse was pounding wildly in his ears. Qui-Gon fed his own pleasure into him so he felt both enveloped and penetrated and the line between them became blurred as they plunged into and were plundered.

Then his lover reached down and pulled the slipknot on the thong and instantly loosened the bindings with the Force.

For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan actually screamed, loud and high, as he came. His body arched up and back helplessly, thrown against Qui-Gon’s by the power of the sensation rushing through it. The pleasure, which was also a tremendous pain, arced through him like an electric shock, from his genitals up his spine, convulsing his muscles, nearly stopping his heart. Cum spattered the floor, his chest, his stomach, under his chin, so explosive was his orgasm. Qui-Gon’s hips thrust and jerked against him involuntarily as muscles clamped tight around him and his own orgasm tore through him with the same power. Lights erupted and Obi-Wan’s vision went first red around the edges then dark.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Isa, no, you’re not a scary person,” Bruck said, putting a hand on her shoulder. It rose and fell dramatically as though she were breathing hard. “I was just kidding. Hey, don’t, please. Come on. Anybody who’d say that to you is just stupid.” He tugged her braid a little. “Including me. We’re all just what we are. You’re going to be a hell of a Jedi, just like your master, and her master. Qui-Gon’s built quite a dynasty. You should be proud to be part of it. And maybe Nori’s just a little jealous of that. He’s not far from his trials either—or shouldn’t be—but I’ll bet you get through yours before he does, and better. I’ll bet you’ll be up for yours next year.”

“That’s what Master Ayana says, too,” she said morosely, as though it were a bad thing. It reminded him of Ben, for a moment. Though Kenobi never complained about it, Bruck knew the pressure—self-imposed as most of it was—to live up to his own reputation and abilities was sometimes overwhelming. He’d heard enough about Isa to realize she was in pretty much the same situation, but at a younger age.

“Lonely at the top?” he said gently.

 

* * *

 

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, he was on his back on the bed, and Qui, his lover-owner-teacher-master, was removing the clamps and wiping him down gently, soothing the bruises and rugburn and unbearably sensitive, swollen skin of his cock and balls and nipples with a warm cloth, and everything was blurry until he blinked and Qui wiped his face with his thumbs and kissed him tenderly all over it.

“Find all the pieces?” he mumbled, flinging an arm over his eyes as his lover leaned back.

“Yes, Love,” Qui-Gon replied, amusement in his voice. “And managed to glue you back together, as well.”

He looked up suddenly. “You didn’t lift me up here, did you?”

“With the Force. I haven’t lost all my wits yet. Unlike someone else I could name.”

“And no small wonder,” he groaned, arm going back over his eyes. “Where did you get that thing, and what is it?”

“This?” Qui-Gon held up a chrome ovoid about the size of a fist, and smiled devilishly. “From a certain establishment devoted to such things.”

Obi-Wan looked astonished. “From where? You went to a—”

“A pleasure house, yes. The last time we were on Alderaan.”

“That was years ago!”

“Two, to be more precise.”

“You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?” Obi-Wan accused. Qui-Gon remained silent, smiling, neither admitting nor denying. His lover scowled at him. “That trick with the thong?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever do that to me again, no matter how much I beg for it.”

“I should get that in writing, I think.”

“Writing,” he muttered, dimly searching for a memory the word sparked in him. “Speaking of writing . . .”

“Would you like to see? Can you walk?”

“I don’t think you incapacitated me entirely,” he replied wryly. Nonetheless, he sat up gingerly, expecting to hurt all over, discovering he was not far off in his estimate. The soles of his feet seemed to be the only parts of him that weren’t painful somehow. He followed his lover into the fresher, watching his graceful, easy stride with envy and the ass beneath his still-open, billowing robe with lust. _Amazing. Pounded to pulp and ready for more,_ he thought feeling a painful surge of blood into his cock.

In the fresher, Qui-Gon turned him around in front of the other full length mirror and handed him a smaller one. Obi-Wan angled it over his shoulder and gasped, then reached behind him to touch the small of his back. Nestled into the shallow V of flesh right above the cleft was a large, elaborate, curlicued and embellished raised J, outlined in green and colored gold. A smaller Q and G interlocked with it on either side, similarly colored and only slightly less elaborate.

Obi-Wan gaped. The work was astonishing. The pictograms were beautiful, graceful things, but this was a king’s monogram—and he the king’s property. The knowledge filled him with a quiet joy that rose in him like a fountain. No other man. No other lover. No one he could possibly love more. He caught sight of Qui-Gon’s face in the mirror, smiling gently, watching Obi-Wan’s pleasure with pleasure of his own, and looked up at him, eyes shining, the Force within him singing, confirming how right this was. “Always yours, My Master,” he said quietly.

“As long as you so wish it, Obi-Wan.”

“Always,” he repeated.

“Always, then,” Qui-Gon agreed, closing his arms around the younger man, tucking Obi-Wan’s head beneath his chin and simply holding him within the folds of his robe as he had so often since they had been together. Obi-Wan sighed almost soundlessly and sank against him. They simply stood like that for some time, skin to skin, wrapped together in blue silk.

“Qui, what did you color this with?” he asked finally.

Qui-Gon traced the older blue pictograms again, said quietly, “Powdered lapis,” then touched the new scars, eliciting a shiver, and said, “powdered malachite and gold. All inert. All non-toxic.”

“All precious.”

Qui-Gon kissed him. “Yes. But not so much as you.”

“It’s beautiful, my heart. Thank you. Another wonderful gift.”

“You’re welcome, my only one.” He slid his hands up and down Obi-Wan’s arms, feeling him tremble, then stepped back and inspected him, touching the bruises and frowning. “You’re going to hurt soon.”

“Already do.”

“Go back to bed—not on the floor; I’ve had enough of floors for the night—and I’ll rub you down.”

 

* * *

 

Isa’s head snapped up and even in the dark Bruck could see fury in her shadowed features. “‘Lonely at the top’?” she repeated with a sneer. She thought he was mocking her. It was the last thing on his mind. “How dare you—”

“I’m serious,” he said quickly. “You’re one of the best. People who aren’t, who can’t compete with you, sometimes get resentful, jealous. It can narrow down your circle of friends a lot.”

“How would you know?” she scoffed and started to get to her feet. Even slightly intoxicated and hampered by a short skirt and heels she was graceful. Her words stung, but he’d heard them before. And he knew exactly how good he was. Evidently she didn’t. Bruck let her go, let her tower over him, wondering how tall she really was. Almost his height, he thought. Taller than Ben. No wonder that runt Nori couldn’t appreciate her. If her abilities didn’t scare him off, her height would. He’d be afraid she’d swallow him whole. Bruck didn’t find that particularly scary.

“Oh, not first-hand, that’s for sure. I’m not in your class. But I see it with Kenobi. Even I get tired of watching him win all the awards he does. You’ve won your share too.”

She stood looking down on him for a moment, then settled on her heels, back at eye level. “You’re pretty observant, for a guy who wasn’t ever supposed to amount to anything.” Her tone was gently mocking, but more of herself this time than him.

Bruck grinned in the dark, knowing she’d see mostly teeth and the whites of his eyes and white eyebrows and hair. “That’s what I’m best at. That and being anyone but who I am.”

She touched his face, softly, unerringly in the dark. “And why’s that?”

 _Because I’ve almost forgotten who that is,_ he thought.

 

* * *

 

A short while later, Obi-Wan found himself laid out face-down like an exhausted castaway on a soft towel on their bed, Qui-Gon straddling his hips and rubbing some lightly anesthetic balm into his strained muscles and bruises.

He sighed deeply, content and relieved. “It’s very strange, Qui-Gon,” he said quietly, yawning.

“What’s that, my love?”

“I feel much less your padawan at this moment than I did when you cut my braid this afternoon.”

“Why is that so strange?”

Obi-Wan laughed a little, sounding both bemused and a little worried. “Because I just let you tie me up—tie my cock and balls up, by the Hundred Little Gods!—and scar me and tell me when to speak and when to move and when to come. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“I think, my love, that the operative word is ‘let,’” Qui-Gon said, working the balm into his shoulders and strained pectorals. “Could I have done such a thing to you even a halfyear ago and have you lying here now as untroubled as you are?”

“No. No, I don’t believe so,” Obi-Wan replied thoughtfully after a few moments of silence. “Not that you would have asked, or tried to. And yet I wanted you to. I’ve wanted you to for a long time. Since that time—”

“I know.” Qui-Gon’s hands worked over his lover’s body tenderly, in stark contrast to their earlier treatment of him. “But this kind of submission is only possible when offered freely, and you could not extend it when it was not yours to give. Tonight you gave me a great gift, my love. Thank you.” He leaned down and kissed the back of Obi-Wan’s neck.

“I’m not sure it was an entirely unselfish gift,” Obi-Wan said wryly. “It’s been some time since I came like that. Did you—”

“Oh, yes, love. You know how I love watching you thrash and yell, and you were certainly doing both. And the feedback along our bond was astonishing. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything quite like that before.”

Obi-Wan smiled and let himself enjoy the moment of having Qui-Gon’s hands on him like this, feeling sated and bonelessly disinclined to move. His vigil seemed far away, as did most of the future he’d seen there, and only Qui-Gon’s touch mattered right now. Those large hands kneaded and stroked him everywhere he was strained or bruised—everywhere they had strained or bruised him, came the thought. Slowly, they worked their way down his back to the fresh scars, gently smoothing more balm over them. The residual pain lessened considerably and his skin felt warm and far less sensitive than it had. Strange that the same hands could cause such different sensations in him, pain and pleasure, pain that was pleasure. He felt deeply content and wondered at that, as well, both that he should feel it and that what they had just done would give rise to it.

“Qui . . .” he began sleepily.

“Yes, my love?”

“May I ask you a rather personal question?”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “Tonight and after, you may ask me anything you wish, Obi-Wan. Many things have changed between us now, but I still owe my lover all my honesty. Ask.”

“Have you done this with your other lovers, or only with me?”

Despite his earlier words, Qui-Gon didn’t answer immediately. Obi-Wan let the silence be, though his heart thumped rather painfully in his chest, all at once. This answer seemed very important suddenly, as though it might be the paradigm for their future. Perhaps it was.

Qui-Gon’s reply was some time in coming. Obi-Wan rolled over to face him finally and was disturbed to see his lover sitting with his eyes closed, pain drawing his brows together and creasing his forehead.

“Qui, never mind—”

The older Jedi opened his eyes and stroked long fingers over his former padawan’s throat, toying with the braid still wrapped there. Obi-Wan swallowed uneasily, remembering their first time, when Qui-Gon had closed his teeth on him there, realizing now it had been a harbinger of things to come. “No. You should know this. I’ve never felt this way before, about anyone. You bring out emotions in me that I thought I’d long ago mastered,” he admitted.

“Like . . . ?” Obi-Wan prompted gently.

“Fear,” his former master replied with brutal honesty.

“Fear? What makes you afraid?”

“Every morning, you get up and walk away from me, Obi-Wan. One day, you’ll keep going.” Obi-Wan started to laugh at the absurdity of it but Qui-Gon silenced him with a finger on his lips. “Especially now, my love. Every day when you were my padawan brought you one step closer to becoming a knight. Every day you grew older and wiser and more skilled and more sure of yourself and more independent—more your own man. Every day brought us one step closer to separation.”

“Every day brought us one step closer to being the true partners we are now,” Obi-Wan corrected.

“Yes. Now you see. When the time came for that, I wanted you to know you were mine. I wanted to be certain you were mine. You’re still a young man, and beautiful. You could have anyone you asked. You already have another very handsome and attentive lover. Why would you want me?” he asked with a terrible honesty Obi-Wan hadn’t expected. It astonished him that Qui-Gon would worry about something that seemed so trivial after all this time.

Obi-Wan propped himself up on his elbows, still between the larger man’s legs. “Why would I want anyone else when I can have you?” The very idea mystified him, as if there were nothing more natural in all the universe. “Bruck and I have been lovers nearly as long as you and I have. If I were going to leave you, Qui, don’t you think I’d have done it now, tonight, the moment I was free of my obligations to you? I was with Bruck at the party this evening. I could have easily gone home with him. And yet I left him and came to you first. You’ll always be first because you were the first. You know me better than anyone else, and I love you like I love no other.” He paused for a moment, then reached out and stroked a finger along Qui-Gon’s cock, looping it finally through the gold ring threaded through the head, watching the slow tide of blood following his touch. “Is that why you did this? Because you thought it would make you more desirable to me?”

A complementary flush spread across Qui-Gon’s face, not as slow or as intense as the other, but just as involuntary and obvious. “I suppose I did, though I would not have said that at the time.”

Obi-Wan laughed and shook his head. “Foolish old man. That’s why you’ve been putting me off for the last two tens, isn’t it? And I thought you were just cold, sleeping in your shorts. You’re as bad as Bruck. How did you convince the Arkania healers to do it?”

The flush grew a little deeper, until there was something like shame in his lover’s face. “I did it myself,” he said quietly, not meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze. “After the last examination. No one else has seen it but you.”

“Oh, Qui . . .” he murmured, finding it suddenly much less amusing. He couldn’t imagine Qui-Gon calmly sitting somewhere private, threading what must have been a curved needle and then the ring itself through his urethra and out under the head, then annealing the ring and healing the wound. Well, he could, all too vividly, and the image made him hard. But there was something poignant and sad in the picture as well. If it had simply been a gift, he would have understood, but somehow he thought Qui-Gon had neither enjoyed the process nor the anticipation of its discovery, as Bruck had and Obi-Wan might have himself. He couldn’t shake the vision of Qui-Gon sitting somewhere cold and sterile, doing something to himself that he would consider mutilation in any other circumstance, and enduring it under the mistaken idea that it would somehow make his lover want him more. It left Obi-Wan feeling sad and lonely by proxy. “What were you thinking, love?” he whispered, sitting up to wrap his arms around Qui-Gon’s waist.

“I thought—” He stopped himself.

“What?” Obi-Wan prompted.

“I thought it would be worth it. To see your face. To give you that pleasure.” But that wasn’t it, or at least wasn’t all of it. Obi-Wan could hear something else in Qui-Gon’s voice.

“And I’ll tell you the same thing I told Bruck when he did it: that it’s a foolish thing for a Jedi, much as I love it.”

“I won’t be in the field again, Obi-Wan”

He cupped his lover’s cheek, stroking the deep lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, lines made by years of a constant amusement with life that was suddenly absent. “It frightened you, didn’t it?” he said quietly. “Being hurt so badly. You’re feeling old, aren’t you?”

Qui-Gon was silent for a few moments. When he spoke, the turmoil he was feeling was all the more obvious for the hesitation in his words. “I am not so much . . . feeling old, as I am having to acknowledge that . . . that I, I am old. My time is passed, Obi-Wan. The future belongs to you now. You and Bruck and Anakin.”

“So you go and do something like this? Did it work?”

“‘Work’?” Obi-Wan was a little relieved to hear a tinge of outrage behind the confusion in his lover’s voice.

“Did it make you feel younger? More desirable? Or did it just hurt?” Obi-Wan said quietly, stroking the older man’s long, muscular thighs tenderly.

Qui-Gon shuddered and gave a shaky laugh. “You’re right, Obi-Wan. I am an old fool. And as Mace so often reminds me, there’s no fool like an old one.”

“You didn’t have to do this, Qui. You didn’t have to do anything but be who you are. After all this time, do you still think something so trivial as your age matters to me? Nothing could make me love you more, or less. Don’t ever think you have to do something like this to make me love you. That’s not going to change. Whatever else does, that won’t.”

 

* * *

 

Not realizing she’d heard what he was thinking, Bruck opened his mouth to make some offhand joke of it. But Isa said, “Oh!” with one hand to her mouth, the other on his shoulder, steadying either herself or him, he wasn’t sure which. “I’m sorry. That came right through your shields,” she whispered. And he could see the whites of her eyes now. “I’m sorry. Really. I wasn’t prying.”

Bruck felt his face go hot in the cool darkness. “Shit,” he said, repeating her earlier sentiment. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“I know,” Isa said in a very small voice. “I’m sorry.”

All of a sudden, it was too much, drunk or not. He barely knew her and already she had more information about him than was strictly comfortable. Even when he wanted to, he couldn’t seem to hide things from her. Bruck got to his feet as fluidly as she had. “I have to go,” he said, terribly sober, much more sober than he wanted to be, and panicky, though he couldn’t have said why. He started to step past her, but she grabbed his wrist, let his momentum pull her to her feet again and became a solid weight on the end of his arm, detaining him on the balcony with her.

“Don’t go,” she said. “I’m really sorry. You weren’t shielding very well and I’m—I’m a freak. Like you said. That’s what makes me dangerous, I know. It’s not my other abilities. I’m always doing this.” She was babbling now, and they both knew it, but she seemed to really want him to stay. “You can’t imagine the things I just pick up from people just walking down the hallway. That’s one of the reasons Master Ayana kept me away from temple for so long when I was younger, so I could learn not to pick people’s brains. I’m really sorry, Bruck. I’m sorry I’m such a freak. I won’t pry, I promise. I won’t say anything. I’ve learned to be very discreet. I shouldn’t have even reacted, but it just shocked me that you’d think that about yourself. I’ll—” He touched her lips with his fingers.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, anything to make her stop. It was surprisingly painful to watch her flagellate herself, especially for him. She was too nice for that. “You’re not a freak, Isa. Don’t say that. You’ve got a real talent. I know you weren’t prying. It was just me being touchy. I get like that sometimes.”

“Yeah, me too,” Isa confessed, laughing a little and looking away. “Two of a kind, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

Gently, he pushed Qui-Gon onto his back between his own feet then untangled himself and knelt between the older man’s knees, passing him a pillow, which Qui-Gon propped under his head. “Stay there,” he murmured, running a lingering caress down his lover’s chest as he stepped off the bed and retrieved his boots and pants.

“Where are you going?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Nowhere. Just dressing up for you. I know you like it. These,” he said, holding up the pants to his blacks, “or the leather?”

“Leather,” Qui-Gon replied hoarsely, eyes dilating.

In a moment, Obi-Wan was kneeling again between his lover’s legs, encased in black leather from waist to toes. “Do you want to try these?” he asked, holding out the nipple clamps. “If the chain were a little longer, we could thread them through—” Obi-Wan laughed suddenly, interrupting himself, as Qui-Gon’s cock jumped. “Part of you finds that a very intriguing notion, apparently. Well, we’ll get a longer chain then. For now—” and he leaned forward, holding them out, but Qui-Gon stopped him.

“No. I like them on you. Can you stand to put them on again?” he asked, rubbing a thumb over Obi-Wan’s hot, swollen nipple. It hurt, but not in a bad way.

“Oh yes. I can bear it for you, love. Put them on again.” He hissed a little as Qui-Gon closed them over the ultrasensitive nubs of flesh. Then he leaned back and stroked his hands down over them, making sure to catch the chain as his hands made their way down his chest and abdomen, undulating underneath them until he reached the waist of the leather pants, then stroking over them to knead the bulge at the crotch until it was straining against the leather.

Qui-Gon watched him hungrily, mouth open a little, eyes bright and wide and nearly all pupil, breath harsh in his throat. His hands came up and grasped Obi-Wan’s hips, fingers closing bruisingly over the bones, digging into his ass. Obi-Wan rocked in his grip for a moment, then broke it and sat back on his heels, leaning over him, blowing gently on his cock. Qui-Gon moaned, letting his hands slide over his lover’s shoulders, down his arms to clench on his wrists. Obi-Wan nibbled and licked along the hard, huge shaft, feeling the heat from it, watching it engorge and rise and turn shades darker, the head nearly purple as it came to rest against his belly.

“Touch me,” Qui-Gon demanded when Obi-Wan leaned back and stroked the inside of his lover’s thighs, nibbling and licking along them as well. “The Little Gods’ balls, Obi-Wan, you’ll drive me mad.”

“That’s the object,” he said wryly, but took his lover’s hard cock in hand and slipped his tongue between crown and foreskin, teasing the new gold ring peeping out from beneath it. Despite his earlier words, Obi-Wan found it deeply fascinating and erotic and was determined that Qui-Gon would not regret it. He tugged the ring gently with his teeth, holding the foreskin back.

Qui-Gon’s hands clutched hard in his hair, a shudder wracking him. Just the result Obi-Wan wanted. He slid Qui-Gon’s foreskin up over the ring again, pinched it shut and manipulated both across the head of his lover’s cock.

“Ah—by the Hundred Little Gods! O all the Sith hells! What are you doing? For gods’ sake don’t stop!”

“Sorry. Thought I was hurting you,” Obi-Wan grinned, slowly easing back the foreskin again and toying with the ring, turning it through the channel of its piercing. He licked over the head, probing down along the ring’s surface, watching another wracking shudder roll through Qui-Gon.

_//Tell me again who you did this for?//_

“Impudent Padawan,” his lover growled, hands clenched in the sheets, sweat sheening his body in the low light.

_//No longer.//_

“Ungrateful wretch.”

_//You wound me. It’s splendid and I’m very grateful. To show you just how grateful, I’m going to make you come.//_

“Just keep doing what you’re doing and you will,” he groaned. “I want to see you.” Qui-Gon propped himself up on his elbows, quivering, drinking in the sight of his bare-chested knight, kneeling in tight black pants and knee-high black boots, his own braid glowing softly around the younger man’s throat, green jewels winking on his nipples, with his tongue looped through the gold ring in Qui-Gon’s cock, worrying it like an animal with prey. Clearly the sensation accompanying that vision was something of an altogether different nature than he’d experienced before, leaving him speechless and trembling. _//Gods, Love, you’re so beautiful. I’m so lucky. Don’t stop.//_

 _//We both are. Look at the jewelry my thoughtful lovers give me.//_ Obi-Wan drew his lover’s cock into his mouth, tongue still through the ring, then sucked hard. Qui-Gon threw back his head and moaned loudly, bucking into his mouth. Obi-Wan took him in, feeling the warmed metal stroke the back of his throat, hot flesh filling his mouth, stretching his lips. His hands moved beneath Qui-Gon’s ass, kneading the hard muscle, pulling him closer and swallowing, making his lover buck and thrust and cry out. He sucked again, tongue pressing into the throbbing vein beneath, teeth raking lightly up over the shaft until, with a metallic click, they hit the ring where it emerged beneath the crown. He flicked it hard with his tongue, back and forth, until Qui-Gon was squirming, hands white-knuckled in the sheets, then plunged downward again until it hit the back of his throat. Relaxing the muscles there, he went down farther, until his nose brushed the tight dark curls, and then began to hum tunelessly. He could feel the ring vibrating in his throat, imagined the sensation Qui-Gon must be feeling. At the same time, he feathered gentle fingers over his lover’s balls, even as they drew up tight to the shaft he held in his throat. Qui-Gon shuddered once more, convulsively, groaned like a tree being felled, tensed, thrust into him even farther, held himself there, and came hard. Obi-Wan pulled upward as he did and swallowed quickly, but there was too much and he let some spill into his mouth, holding it there and laving the softening cock as Qui-Gon withdrew, gasping and shivering, undone.

He slithered up Qui-Gon’s body then, bringing their mouths together and spilling the last of Qui-Gon’s own seed into his lover’s mouth, tongue following to share the taste. The older man licked the remnants from Obi-Wan’s lips and pulled him closer, hand sliding between his leather-clad legs, trembling with the aftershocks.

“I never suspected it would feel like that,” he murmured, still trying to catch his breath. “Never.”

“Or you might have done it years ago?” Obi-Wan grinned and licked the sweat from the center of his chest.

“Indeed,” he sighed.

“I love it, Qui. but do you understand that it wasn’t necessary? I was yours long before tonight. I’ve been yours since the beginning, and I’m not about to walk away from you now, or ever. We might be separated, but we won’t ever be without one another. _//I’m always here.//_

_//It seems so.//_

Since he had gone after Qui-Gon, pulling him back from merging with the Force, their training bond—which should have begun to fade now that Qui-Gon had begun to bond with his new padawan—had instead grown far stronger than it had already been. Neither of them had been quite willing to explore what it meant before Obi-Wan’s knighting. Now there was no avoiding it.

Obi-Wan leaned in and kissed him, unperturbed. “And what is this, Master Jinn, that makes me so acutely aware of you?”

Qui-Gon, however, seemed troubled. “I’m not certain, to be truthful. My training bonds have always been much stronger than most others, even with Yoda. But you seem to have started something quite different, bringing me back from the dead.”

“It’s not a lifebond, is it?”

“I don’t believe so. I think we would know. I think the connection would be much deeper even than this—not just thoughts but emotions as well, and just as clear.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Obi-Wan said with a faint sigh.

“Disappointed?”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, pupils widening. “Yes. I’d like that, with you.” Qui-Gon said nothing. Obi-Wan took his chin in hand and made him meet his gaze. “You wouldn’t?”

“More than anything, love. But I would not willingly initiate it. Not because I don’t love you more than anyone else I’ve ever known. But one of us must keep in mind how much older I am than you. My death would most likely kill you, if this were a lifebond.”

“Didn’t we just have this conversation? As if I’d go on without you—”

“You will!” Qui-Gon snapped. “Don’t be a complete fool!”

“That’s my choice, Qui,” Obi-Wan replied calmly.

“No, it is not, Knight Kenobi.” Qui-Gon reached for his braid, both of them realizing at the same time it was no longer there. The older man settled for yanking a fistful of hair where Obi-Wan’s tail had been. “You chose this life and all it means—and part of that is subjugation of one’s own desires for the greater good. If we are to continue to work together, Obi-Wan, in any capacity, you must understand that. I do not have your gift of sight, but I know you are destined to be a great Jedi, and with the Sith returned we need every one we have. I will not sacrifice your destiny and abilities to my own selfishness. I’ve told you this before. I expect no less from you. That is the highest honor a padawan can show his master. You are a Jedi first, and above all. See you remember it.”

“And I will be a Jedi in my own way, Qui-Gon. I make my own decisions now. I would not dishonor you or the Order. I did choose this life, as you said, and not just to be near you. But I will do what the Force tells—”

Obi-Wan stopped in mid-sentence, a look of startled consternation passing over his features before he began to laugh. His former master looked at him with annoyance.

“What the Sith are you—”

“Listen to us, Qui!” he snorted helplessly and went off into another paroxysm of laughter. “We’ve completely reversed roles,” he went on when he’d caught his breath again. “There you are telling me to follow the bloody rules and I’m telling you I’ll do as the Force wills.” He looked up at Qui-Gon, watching his master’s mouth tremble for a moment before he began to laugh as well, unable to resist the younger man’s amusement.

“Well,” he said finally. “It seems you’ve rubbed off on me, as Yoda thought you would. I hate it when that little green troll is right.”

“‘Hate leads to suffering,’” Obi-Wan reminded him with mischievous primness. He knew they weren’t done with this topic, or with anything else they’d talked about tonight, but he preferred to let it lie for the time being.

“You—I’ll make you suffer . . .” Qui-Gon growled, taking the cue and abruptly rolling him back onto the bed and pinning him down with a breath-stifling kiss.

 

* * *

 

“Yeah, looks like we are,” Bruck agreed, tipping her chin up. “A real pair. You’re really tall, you know that?” In her heels, she was actually a little taller than Bruck. Up close, in the sketchy light from inside, her eyes were deep green, greener than Kenobi’s ever were.

“Nori doesn’t like that, either, I think.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“Yeah, but you’re taller than Kenobi.”

“But we’re about the same size, you and I. Nori’s just a runt. Doesn’t bother Ben either, that I’m taller than he is. And Qui-Gon’s a lot taller than either of us.”

“Does that bother you?”

“That Qui-Gon’s so tall?”

“No,” she laughed. “That Kenobi’s, um . . .”

“Fucking his master too?” Bruck finished for her, surprised at the bitterness in his own voice. “That was kinda nosy, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but at least I asked,” she grinned, unrepentant.

Well, there was no point in pretending now. She’d already heard his reaction in his tone. “Yeah, it does. More than I usually let on. I like Qui-Gon though, and I owe him. That makes it easier. And Ben’s always trying to get me—” he broke off, thinking that was information she didn’t need to know. Dammit, it was way too easy for her to get things out of him, even when she didn’t ask and didn’t pick his brain. She was almost as good at it as Ben was.

“Get you to what?” she prompted.

Bruck sighed. No use. He’d brought it up. “To sleep with other people.”

Isa’s eyes got wide. “You mean like a threesome?”

Bruck burst out laughing. “No,” he said, smiling. “Just with someone else besides him.”

“You mean you haven’t? Why not?” She seemed . . . impressed. And that surprised him.

He shrugged, part of him thinking, _I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with someone who’s almost a stranger._ “Just not wired that way. It just—”

“Leaves you feeling kind of empty with strangers? Me too,” she sighed. “Even most of my friends, and there’s not many of them I’m even attracted to that way.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t had enough friends to know about that,” he muttered. He looked around for the glass again, found it behind him, picked it up and took a swig, savagely relishing the burn. What a stupid thing to say. Fine time for his filters to shut off.

 

* * *

 

“Not suffering yet,” Obi-Wan gasped a few long moments later when Qui-Gon came up for air.

“Just wait,” his lover warned, fastening his mouth to one nipple and its clamp and tormenting with teeth and tongue until Obi-Wan was writhing and bucking up against him. “More?”

“Oh, more,” Obi-Wan moaned, struggling against Qui-Gon’s hands where they held his wrists. “Definitely more. I want to touch you.”

“No. Not yet.” Qui-Gon moved to the other nipple, then worked his way downward, drawing Obi-Wan’s arms down with him, until he encountered the black leather waistband. Apparently wanting his own hands free, he pinned Obi-Wan’s with the Force.

“Ahhh! Unfair!” Obi-Wan protested. “Not allowed.”

“Quiet, you, or it’s the thong again.”

“No, Master, please, Master, not The Thong again,” he begged in mock terror.

Qui-Gon couldn’t help smiling, but didn’t let that distract him from his current occupation, which was mouthing the hard shaft confined within the leather until Obi-Wan was begging to be released.

“Either let my hands go or touch me, Qui,” he pleaded.

“Which would you prefer?”

“Don’t care! Just do something.”

One by one, the fastenings holding the soft leather together parted company with each other, the fly opening to reveal Obi-Wan’s hot, glistening cock in its nest of ginger curls. With the kind of dexterity that always amazed the younger man, Qui-Gon slipped one large hand inside the snug crotch and gently lifted out his tightening sac as well.

“Very pretty, framed against that leather,” he murmured.

Obi-Wan shivered at the contact, his cock aching again in its renewed interest. It seemed to have multiple lives tonight, as did Qui-Gon’s, like certain agile tree-dwelling creatures he’d read about somewhere. By last count, his extraordinary lover was already one up on him, for all his protestations of age. So much for youth and vigor. There was, however, something to be said for being trained from childhood through a long life to control your body.

Qui-Gon nibbled lightly down the underside of Obi-Wan’s shaft, making him wriggle and gasp. His fingers clutched desperately into the sheets where they were pinned as Qui-Gon licked gently over the chafed skin on his balls, taking first one then the other into his mouth and coddling it there against his tongue in that velvet heat. Obi-Wan moaned desperately, wanting to touch his lover but held away by Qui-Gon’s iron control. The older man licked up over his shaft, then took just the crown in, his tongue slipping beneath the foreskin and taking delicate swipes. Obi-Wan arched upward, trying to plunge into that impossibly soft heat, but Qui-Gon moved upward with him, tongue probing into the slit to taste him. He sucked gently, rhythmically, until Obi-Wan’s hips were moving in time, then, without warning, slid his mouth down over his lover’s shaft and back up, gently raking with his teeth. The sound Obi-Wan made as his hips jerked might have indicated he was being scalded.

“Suffering yet?” Qui-Gon inquired, still holding him down.

“N-no,” he stammered, panting. “Not yet.”

Qui-Gon blew a narrow stream of air over the crown of his lover’s cock, then stroked Obi-Wan’s foreskin up over the crown, moving it gently across the sensitive surface. The younger man began to moan again quite eloquently as he then slid it back slowly, tongue following first, then his whole mouth engulfing the thick shaft.

Gods, it was so good with this man! Obi-Wan thought in a daze of heated arousal. One hand gripped him at the root, the other ran smoothly ahead of his lips as they glided down his shaft and back up in a lazy rhythm that soon had him crying out mindlessly, hips moving in time with it. He was very near coming when Qui-Gon pulled up and came back to his mouth for a kiss that drew his lower lip between his lover’s to be suckled and bitten. His cock throbbed impatiently as Qui-Gon kissed up under his ear and nibbled the lobe. “How about now?” he murmured, licking the salty skin there lazily.

“Not—not quite,” Obi-Wan managed in a choked voice, nevertheless trying to arch into his lover while being firmly held down.

Qui-Gon leaned back, straddling him and moving slowly backwards until Obi-Wan’s erection, now weeping, bumped against his ass. He continued moving back then just far enough to make sure it was in firm contact and rubbed against it a little. “Close your eyes,” he said.

Shivering, Obi-Wan obeyed, only to have them fly open with a gasp when something frigid slid down the center of his chest. “What—? Where did you—?”

“Close your eyes, I said.”

Obi-Wan obeyed, his brain—which was almost entirely useless now—reminding him that he’d heard Qui-Gon set the glass of icewater down beside the bed when he came back from the fresher to rub him down.

His lover removed the clamps and rubbed the sliver of ice across his nipples, making them peak painfully, and began to loop it lazily across this skin, working his way downward and blowing across the trail of wetness until Obi-Wan was shivering hard.

“Qui . . .” he heard himself whine.

“Suffering now?”

“No, you bastard,” Obi-Wan growled. “Just cold.”

“Oh, well. I’ll have to do something about that,” Qui-Gon replied, slipping down between his legs again. The tone was menacing and Obi-Wan began to worry which “that” Qui-Gon was going to do “something about,” and what that something might be. Somehow, he felt sure it wasn’t the fact that he was co—

A large, warm hand cupped his balls, holding the sliver of ice against them. Obi-Wan cried out and jerked hard, trying to get away, but was held immobile by Qui-Gon’s Force shield. Mercifully, it was a brief sensation, but enough to make him break into a sweat again and push aside the haze of arousal, however briefly, before Qui-Gon’s mouth descended on his cock again, just licking the crown with a . . . cold . . . tongue . . .

 _I have a bad feeling about this,_ Obi-Wan thought as his master took him in nearly to the root. He felt the ice chip glide down over his cock behind those warm lips and nearly screamed. Torture. It was torture. Not like the scarring had been; quite a few steps down from that, in fact. But this was somehow worse because there was no sharp distinction at all between pleasure that was painful and pain that was pleasurable. He wanted Qui-Gon to stop and he wanted him to keep on. It was wonderful and terrible at the same time. He writhed against the Force holding him down, against Qui-Gon’s mouth, trying to get away and trying to thrust deeper at the same time, loud and incoherent noises coming from him.

After a few minutes of exquisite torment, Qui-Gon spit out the ice sliver and left it to melt in Obi-Wan’s navel. The look on his face was smug. “Suffering now?”

“How do you think these things up?” Obi-Wan gasped.

“Answer the question.”

“Almost,” he grated.

“Almost,” Qui-Gon repeated. “I shall have to try harder, I see. Close your eyes again.”

Obi-Wan groaned, wondering what he was getting himself into.

He felt Qui-Gon lean forward and heard some rummaging, wondered what else his lover had been caching away secretly over time and a little afraid of finding out. Qui-Gon leaned down and kissed him again, tongue opening his lips, tasting sweet and hot— Stinging, tingling hot. Before he had time to inquire, his lover had reached inside the leather crotch again, shifting his hips and pressing something cold against the tight ring of muscle, which clamped down in protest.

“Remember this?” Qui-Gon said, his voice silky.

“Not this thing a—aah!” He cried out as the silvery ovoid started to work its way inside him, despite his tightness. As it did, Qui-Gon again licked the crown of his cock, leaving a burn behind that was worse than the cold had been.

“This better—wash off!” he gasped, squirming.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“No!” Obi-Wan barked. “Not tonight!”

Qui-Gon laughed softly. “With good reason.”

“Fiend . . .” he moaned, mind going suddenly blank as Qui-Gon’s toy rippled over his prostate in a cold wave, settling itself inside him and expanding once more. It was like a living block of ice, moving the way Qui-Gon’s cock would but frigid, the flange outside him so cold it burned. Obi-Wan shivered and bucked, trying to get away.

“Qui, gods, it’s so cold!”

“I’ll warm you, my love.” Once again, Qui-Gon’s mouth took him in, velvet heat a mind-blasting contrast to the cold in his rectum. Then the burn set in.

It was too much. His cock was on fire, Qui-Gon’s mouth around him in an impossible wet inferno that made him feel like a white-hot coal, coupled with that insidious pulsing cold in his ass, making his bones ache. He half expected his balls to start sparking with the temperature differential. He struggled against the Force holding him down, felt it dissipate until it was only Qui-Gon’s hands and body he was moving against, bucking into his mouth.

“Qui—gods stop it! Stop it! Can’t stand it!” he begged, the only coherent words he could manage as he writhed on the bed.

Fortunately, his lover paid no attention, holding his hips firmly and moving skillfully up and down his cock as the toy rippled over his prostate. He stopped long enough to look up into Obi-Wan’s face.

“Suffering yet?” he inquired wickedly, giving the crown a fiery lick and then holding it in the tingling heat of his mouth.

“Yes! Make it stop! Finish it! Finish me off!” Obi-Wan cried, thrashing. “You’re killing me!”

“Then you’re dead twice over this night, my love,” Qui-Gon smirked, his mouth and hands going to work on him in earnest then, though it took little more to push him over the edge. In the end, he arched up on his shoulders, thrusting deeply into his lover’s mouth, Qui-Gon taking him in deep and swallowing, holding his waist as the blind ecstasy of his release engulfed him as his lover’s mouth had.

 

* * *

 

Isa was silent for a minute before she responded, standing with her arms crossed, looking at him as though she were probing him, though he didn’t sense any attempt to. But then, maybe she was that good. “That wasn’t just a ‘feeling sorry for yourself’ remark, was it?” she asked finally.

“No, but it was pretty whiny,” he admitted.

“You seemed to get along with everybody all right tonight.”

“Ben’s friends tolerate me,” he shrugged, “just about enough to plan a good party for him, and be civil while it’s going on. That’s about it. Except for Garen, who tries to kick the shit out of me every legitimate chance he gets. He doesn’t speak to Ben anymore, and I’m the reason why. I think he resents my existence.”

“Because of those stupid things you did in public?”

“Among others.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” she said scornfully. “I mean, you were what? Twelve?”

“Almost thirteen. But I’d already been a little shithead for a long time. That was just the pinnacle of my shitheadedness.”

She giggled again. “Well, it’s still ridiculous. Garen’s an adult, almost a knight. He’s a little old for that, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but Nori’s a little old to be as ridiculous as he’s being about you,” he smiled. “I don’t think he knows what he’s missing.”

“Thanks,” she said shyly. “I’ve been kind of ridiculous too. About you. You’re a nice person, Bruck.”

“Not when you get to know me,” he said, only half-joking.

“No, I imagine you’re actually a good person, underneath all that tough-guy exterior, when someone gets to know you. You’ve been really kind to me tonight. Thank you.”

And she kissed him.

 

* * *

 

Afterwards, he felt Qui-Gon gently wiping him down again, his touch feather-light, almost not there at all, and realized the thing inside him was warm and quiescent now, like a fist, still filling him. Qui-Gon touched the flange. “Shall I take it out?”

“No,” he panted, struggling to catch his breath. “Feels good. So did that.”

His lover kissed him gently, a little tingle still in it, and slid down beside him, pulling the sheet up over both of them. “I’m glad.”

“How do you think these things up?” he wondered exhaustedly.

Qui-Gon chuckled. “You’re not the first to ask me that.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan cocked one eyebrow and opened the eye below it. “You’ve a reputation for this, then?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I’d never have guessed. My old master, a closet sensualist. If I’d known that, I’d have tried to be ready for my Trials earlier.”

“It is different now, isn’t it?” Qui-Gon observed, half-seriously, holding the younger man against him, chin rubbing the top of his head.

“Yes, though I can’t say quite how.”

“You’re more aggressive, for one thing.”

“Am I?” Obi-Wan was surprised.

“Freer with saying what you want, with the banter and teasing. I thought you might be.”

“Well, it’s not disrespect now.”

“It never was, really, from you, though I suppose it’s easier to tell and I needn’t worry about encouraging it now.”

“Are you free of him, then, finally?” Obi-Wan asked gently, propping himself up on one elbow and laying a hand on his lover’s chest. Qui-Gon looked at him blankly. “Of Xanatos? Do you finally see me here in front of you?”

The words startled a short, astonished laugh out of the older man. “Is that— Did you think-- Was I so—” He stopped, shook his head looking at his lover with amazement. “You were never Xanatos, my love,” Qui-Gon said, “never really like him. Xanatos made his own choices, submitting to no one, just as you made your own choices submitting to me.”

Obi-Wan sighed and something fell away from him, almost visibly, some sadness Qui-Gon had never noticed he carried until it was gone. “I’ve waited years to hear that from you. To know you really believe it. Ever since the last fear exercises.”

Qui-Gon traced his initials again where they glowed beneath Obi-Wan’s skin. “I didn’t realize, love. I’m sorry. I’m not so much free of him as freed by you. From the moment our bond began to form on Bandomeer, you’ve done nothing but give of yourself to me, to your vocation, to the Force. How could I want—want for—anything or anyone else in the face of that? I’d hoped you knew that. If you didn’t, it was my failure in neglecting to make it clear.”

“Or my own insecurity speaking.”

“That’s an old hurt, isn’t it?” Qui-Gon said gently, pulling him down again.

“One I should have gotten over long ago.”

Qui-Gon sighed, and Obi-Wan could feel his melancholy through the new bond they shared.

“It’s not so bad as all that,” he said, kissing the older man.

“I was thinking how much our own injuries perpetuate themselves on others. And you’re the last person I’d ever willingly hurt.”

“I know that, Qui. Losing him must have been terrible. Having to kill him must have only been worse.”

“More than you can know, love,” Qui-Gon said sadly. “More than I hope you ever know.”

“That’s why you’re afraid of the lifebond.”

“Not the only reason. What I said before about our ages is true as well. But it is a terrible thing to feel, that break between two people who are bonded. I’d rather spare you that again—or as much of it as possible, since it seems our own bond has grown.”

“Are you sorry it has?”

“Gods no!” Qui-Gon said fervently, pulling Obi-Wan even closer. “If you knew what I’d been like before, with Ayana, and what Xanatos took from me, what you saved me from becoming afterwards, love. Before you came along, I felt as though I were some kind of emotional black hole that no one could fill. And I was so wrong. I never should have let my own fear of being hurt again keep us apart as long as it did. I know I hurt you doing so.”

“I got over it, Qui. The first year or so with you was hard—you were very inscrutable—but I imagine it’s hard for every padawan, getting used to a new master.”

“I’m sorry if I was cold—”

“I didn’t say that. I said you were inscrutable. I don’t think you know how impossible it is for you to be cold. Implacable, stubborn, ruthless, exacting—but never cold. You’re too full of the Living Force to be cold. It’s one of the things I love in you. It’s what makes you such a great master and such a wonderful lover.”

By way of reply, Qui-Gon kissed him and stroked the flange of warm metal between his cheeks, making the thing inside him pulse and ripple, and Obi-Wan surged against him, gasping, eyes glazing. “That thing—that’s—it’s impossible.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Didn’t say that,” he panted, hips thrusting helplessly against Qui-Gon’s in time with the pulses, reaching for his own suddenly hard cock.

Qui-Gon’s hand was there first, large and firm, knowing just the right rhythm. A moment later, he felt himself grasped together with Qui-Gon’s cock and closed his own hand around the two of them as they lay facing each other, legs entangled, hips rocking together. This was wonderful, seeing Qui-Gon’s face, watching the fierceness in his eyes soften, his features grow almost luminous with desire and pleasure. Obi-Wan reached out through the Force to him as he had done that night years ago in the gardens, finding him already enmeshed in the Living Force and the awareness it brought of life around them.

“Careful, love,” Qui-Gon murmured. “We don’t want everyone to know what we’re doing tonight.”

“Perhaps not,” he agreed, smiling, remembering the teasing from his fellow padawans about broadcasting his orgasms he’d had to put up with. “Although I’m not sure it’s a very well-kept secret.”

“No, not after that smoldering look you gave me before Anakin and I left your reception.” Qui-Gon kissed him, pressing warm lips to his own, tongue brushing over them, slipping inside as he opened them. //And we’re not the only ones. Can you feel them?//

Obi-Wan followed his master’s lead, widening his connection to the Living Force, letting it flow through him, bringing all that life held. In it he felt their own love and joy and pleasure in each other’s bodies join with others, not just in the Temple but elsewhere across Coruscant. It wrapped them like a comforting blanket and it deepened their own pleasure to know they were part of a greater union of lovers.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and was startled to see Qui-Gon’s glittering, not quite spilling what was in them. He leaned forward and kissed the lids, tasting salt.

“I’ve waited so long,” he whispered in a choked voice.

“No longer, my love,” Obi-Wan told him. “Take it out. Take off my clothes. I want you inside me.”

In a few pleasurable moments, he lay naked and empty between Qui-Gon’s outstretched legs and his hips were lifted onto his lover’s lap. Then that generous cock pressed against him, entered and filled him. Enjoyable as Qui-Gon’s new toy was, this was so far beyond it that there was no comparison to having the man he loved inside him, filling him, making him whole, connecting them so intimately. They leaned back, clasping each other’s arms and moving slowly, watching the ripples of pleasure pass through each other, the Force moving through them like a living stream, carrying them with it, merging them into the greater whole. Qui-Gon thrust into him gently, hardly moving at all, stroking his chest and legs and cock with invisible hands while Obi-Wan moved against him, impaling himself more than willingly, reaching out through the Force to penetrate and fill his lover as he himself was so deeply and wholly filled.

“O gods, love,” he moaned. “Too long.” Five years they had been lovers, nearly six, and after each absence, short or long, it seemed like the first night all over again. Tonight it was, in a sense, more so than any other, including the first.

“Too long,” Qui-Gon agreed. No constraints tonight, my love.”

“No,” Obi-Wan gasped. “Tonight I have all of you, finally.”

“All of me, always, from now on, to do with as you will,” he replied, pulling Obi-Wan forward and kissing the younger man.

“All of me, always, from now on, to do with as you will,” Obi-Wan echoed, as though it were a vow, closing his arms around Qui-Gon’s waist.

They rocked gently for a long time, caressing each other with hands of flesh and Force, opening themselves up until it felt as though they were all lovers, finding pleasure in things not even physically possibly for them, but sharing it with those for whom it was. In Qui-Gon’s face, Obi-Wan saw the same peacefulness he recognized from his master’s deepest meditations, those times when he was so immersed in the Living Force that his young padawan had once wondered how he could reemerge with his identity intact. Once again, as he had in the Temple garden so many years ago, Obi-Wan reached out to his lover, hiding neither weaknesses nor fears.

“All of me, always, Qui-Gon Tell me what you want. Tell me what you’ve needed, all this time. Let me give you the pleasure you’ve given me tonight.”

And with that Qui-Gon faltered. He looked at Obi-Wan helplessly, paralyzed, the desire formed there in his mind, wordless but not inchoate, and utterly unreachable. So many years alone, so many years always the master, so much pain and betrayal, all of it in his eyes now, behind a wall he’d built and could not raze. Obi-Wan had caught a glimpse of it once before, in a vulnerable moment early in their relationship, when Qui-Gon had been trying to find the point of equilibrium between master and lover, veering wildly between the two in a completely unsatisfactory manner that threatened to permanently tear them apart. That night, Qui-Gon had clearly wanted nothing so much as to let all his shields down, to open himself completely to his padawan and let everything be as it should between them. But both of them had known the it was impossible then, not if they were to make both their relationships workable until Obi-Wan was knighted. It had nearly been a disaster, but Qui-Gon had turned it into a lesson, instead. Now, Obi-Wan knew he had to do something to rescue this moment and all the ones to follow, even as he felt Qui-Gon’s erection failing.

 

* * *

 

Isa’s kiss startled him enough that he jumped. She leaned back a little, whispered, “I don’t bite,” and found his mouth again. Her lips were soft, dry, her mouth a little open against his, but not demanding anything. The last time he’d kissed a woman it had been his master Leth, and nothing about that had gone well. The memory made him shiver. Isa broke the kiss again, reacting to his sudden discomfort.

“I’m sorry—” she began, looking embarrassed.

“No, it’s all right,” he said, his voice gone a little gravelly, a fact that surprised him as much as his pounding heart did. All of a sudden, he didn’t want her to stop kissing him. He didn’t want her to stop. He didn’t want her to go away at all. “It’s not you. Don’t—”

And he was the one who leaned forward this time, wondering what he was doing, wondering why this felt right, wondering if it was the gran or his own loneliness or both or something else. She touched his arm as their lips met again, slid her palm up it to his shoulder, the other hand—rough and calloused but very gentle—cupping the back of his neck. Her mouth opened under his to let out a soft muffled sound into his own, and he slid his tongue in alongside hers, over it, against it, exploring tentatively. She tasted . . . not like Ben. Sweeter, the liqueurs still on her breath, and something else beneath it that made her herself and not someone else. She pushed back into his mouth, doing her own exploring. He wondered how he tasted to her, with the harsh gran on his own breath. “Good,” she whispered. “You taste good,” she told him and went back to kissing him.

They kissed for a long time, carefully, gently, Isa making little noises, Bruck threading his fingers into her thick, curly hair. By the time they came up for air, they were both shaking, and there was a heat in Bruck’s groin that he’d only felt before with Ben. He wondered what the hell he was doing. But she smelled good, she tasted good. She wanted him. And Ben was—busy.

“You’re a good kisser,” Isa said in a hoarse whisper.

“I know a few other tricks,” he replied, stroking the pads of his fingers down her cheek to her jaw, down her neck and across her collarbones, feeling her shiver. Her skin was so soft, not like Ben’s was soft, but somehow different though he couldn’t explain how. She was wearing perfume that smelled like rain.

“Show me,” she said. “Someplace more private.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan shifted their positions until he was kneeling above the man who had been his master, grazing slow, powerful fingers over his flesh as though learning it anew.

“I’m sorry—” the older man began, shame heavy in his voice.

“Shut up, Qui-Gon. I’ve had enough apologies. And I’ve had enough of your excuses. You say one thing and mean another. You said all of you and that’s what I’ll have tonight—or nothing.”

Obi-Wan saw the shock and anger arc through the older man as his eyes snapped to his lover’s face. He glowered over Qui-Gon, a frown of concentration deepening the line between his brows as his hands wandered everywhere, fingers combing through his lover’s hair and beard, knotting briefly in both, down the long throat, over broad shoulders and down his arms, taking each hand in his own and deftly turning them, tracing the lines on the palms, the calluses softened by illness and inactivity. _This is mine. And this, and this, and this,_ his hands said. They stroked down Qui-Gon’s chest, briefly tracing the collarbones, pinched and rolled his nipples to hard peaks that were then bitten and suckled until he was panting. Fingers glided heavily down his ribcage while the thumbs followed the centerline down to the navel, still carefully avoiding the new scar in all their roughness, then over the hips, down the thighs, behind the knees, over muscular calves to ankles and feet, where he followed the curve of arches above and below with a firm touch. As the hands moved the tension in Qui-Gon’s body followed, muscles contracting as they were touched then relaxing, each one responding to its true owner.

The older man closed his eyes and sank into his lover’s hands, anticipation and fear making him quiver. Obi-Wan felt it too, his own, and what was bleeding through their new bond. Everything was the same, yet so different. Five years of knowing each other, pleasuring each other, and yet they were almost strangers at this moment, strangers coming to bed for the first time. And perhaps they were in this new freedom Obi-Wan’s knighthood granted them.

The young knight parted his lover’s long legs, knelt between them and ran his palms down the tender flesh inside the thighs, then leaned in and bit hard. The pain was so unexpected that Qui-Gon jerked away and let out a startled noise.

“Lie still!” Obi-Wan barked. “You’ve endured worse,” he said scornfully, passing one hand over the new scar, making him flinch reflexively.

“What do you think you’re—” Qui-Gon began.

“I’m going to have you, Qui-Gon Jinn, all of you. I’m going to make you beg, if that’s what it takes.” Obi-Wan leaned in, took his master’s wrists in his hands and pulled them above Qui-Gon’s head, fastening the blunt fingers around the headboard spindles. “Don’t make me hold them there with the Force or something more tangible,” he threatened. “Don’t move until I tell you.”

Outrage and relief vying for the expression on his face, he watched Obi-Wan’s every move as his lover rose and moved the bench from the foot of their bed up beside it. Setting it down, Obi-Wan saw fear there too, and anticipation, and need.

He left Qui-Gon lying on the bed, hands above his head and gripping the headboard as though it were the only thing to keep him from falling, and went to the fresher. He emerged wrapping himself, not in Qui-Gon’s cast-off robe, which he had claimed when the new robe replaced it, but in the blue silk one his lover had worn earlier and left there when they’d come back to bed. Tying it, he stood over the bed, looking down at his former master splayed across it. His gaze raked over Qui-Gon’s body like something physical, lingering on his now-flaccid cock. The scrutiny and bald appraisal made the older man shift uncomfortably, brought a flush to his cheeks. Embarrassment and shame bled through the bond, though Qui-Gon tried to raise his shields around it. “That’s enough,” he growled, taking his hands from the headboard and starting to rise.

Obi-Wan was on top of him like fury, pushing him back down with a knee on his chest, hands yanking his head back down with two fistfuls of hair, then pinning him down with it, at the same time battering down his shields, pushing back through the bond with a ferocious love.

“Don’t you dare. I said, ‘don’t move.’ I haven’t yet told you otherwise. By the Hundred Little Gods, Qui-Gon—”

The older man heaved up against him but Obi-Wan held him fast with a forearm pressed against his windpipe. There were methods of escape from such a hold, but they both knew that would escalate this into something quite different. Qui-Gon looked up into Obi-Wan’s eyes, his own a hot blue mostly black now with desire, and surrendered. Obi-Wan’s grip did not loosen.

“—don’t you trust me?”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon grated sullenly but without hesitation.

Obi-Wan eased up his hold then, taking the man at his word, however reluctantly given, and stepped off the bed again. Before Qui-Gon could regain his composure, Obi-Wan dragged him roughly sideways across the bed, leaving his legs and ass off the edge, then moved the bench between them and seated himself. “Feet here,” he ordered, indicating either side of him. “Now!” he snapped, tugging the ring in Qui-Gon’s cock when he hesitated. The older man winced silently, but Obi-Wan sensed the flash of regret that he’d ever made himself so vulnerable, even to Obi-Wan. And that was the source of the problem—not the regret, because Obi-Wan knew it for what it was, but the fear of being vulnerable. Treacherously, Qui-Gon’s cock had other ideas, twitching with interest as he placed his feet where directed. Obi-Wan watched him coolly, as he summoned the tube of lubricant from the table.

“What do you want, Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan’s voice was low and thick with desire as he cupped his lover’s heavy sac in one hand, rolling and squeezing it.

Qui-Gon broke into a sweat even as his cock stiffened more, but said nothing, mute with fear that manifested itself as anger. Obi-Wan squeezed just to the threshold of real pain. Qui-Gon tensed and gritted his teeth, making a small sound in his throat and the pressure eased, turned to a caress. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Get on with it,” Qui-Gon hissed.

“Say it. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” he gasped, as the hand closed tighter around his balls again, tugging a little.

“Too easy,” Obi-Wan said disdainfully. “In detail. Say it.” The other hand wrapped around his cock, pushing back the foreskin and stroking it to firmer life “Say it,” Obi-Wan growled, already slicking his fingers. He lifted one of Qui-Gon’s long legs and propped it against his shoulder, watching his lover struggle with the words, something that usually flowed so easily from him.

Qui-Gon swallowed heavily as this familiar stranger stroked down over his perineum and around his tight opening.

“I know what you want. What you’ve wanted all these years. I’ve seen it every time you’ve let me inside. How much you have to hold back when you do. I know what you need. Just say it,” Obi-Wan demanded again. “What are you afraid of?”

“Finish what you started that night on Li’ir,” he growled, shaking. “Finish it.”

“This, you mean?” Obi-Wan licked down the inside of the long, tender thigh and nibbled and bit his way back up, leaving tiny bruises, fingers still stroking over his opening. “Or this?” Then he leaned over to take his lover’s cock into his mouth, worrying the ring with his tongue, licking over the crown, sliding slowly down over its length, engulfing him, raking lightly with his teeth on the way up, until Qui-Gon was breathing harshly, every muscle tense with the effort to thrust into that tight heat from his precarious position. _//Or this?//_ as a hand tugged and squeezed his balls again, Obi-Wan’s mouth still closed around his cock.

“No!” Qui-Gon gasped, “Not this.” he started to push Obi-Wan’s head away, found his arms pinned securely over his own head with the Force.

“ _Say it,_ ” Obi-Wan demanded, “or you’ll get nothing. Look at me, Qui-Gon. Say it, or I’ll walk away and that will be the end of it. All of it. I want all of you tonight. Tell me what you want. It’s time to stop playing the master with me. I gave you the opportunity we both wanted. It’s my turn now.”

Panic arced through him, flooding their bond, all Qui-Gon’s fears coalescing in that threat. The younger man tried to watch dispassionately but couldn’t keep his own heart from pounding with the enormity of what he had done. There was no threatening Qui-Gon. If his master failed now, if he let his own fears rule him, they were through. Nothing would be the same. This would always lie between them and ultimately drive them apart. Obi-Wan felt almost sick at the thought. _Say it, for the gods’ sake, say it, Qui. Don’t make me—_

“I want—” he gasped, as though the words were being tortured out of him, “—I want your hand inside me. Please.”

 

* * *

 

The worst part was walking through the remnants of party together, praying his hand wouldn’t turn sweaty in hers. He felt a few glances following them as they left, heard a few murmurs, ignored them with dignity. Their palms rasped together in familiar places and he caught himself wondering how her hand would feel on his cock. _Can’t believe I’m doing this,_ he thought.

“Me either,” she murmured beside him.

“Am I that loud?”

“Yeah,” she grinned. “People get louder when they’re scared. Then it’s hard for me to avoid picking them up.”

“Is that what this feeling is,” he laughed shakily.

“Yeah. I’m scared too,” she admitted, squeezing his hand. “I’m surprised everybody in temple can’t hear me.” Her laugh was just as shaky as his and it made him feel better.

Somehow, they made it back to the quarters Bruck shared with his master, who was long asleep, and into Bruck’s room.

“Wow,” Isa giggled, surveying the terrain nervously, “there’s not much room to do anything in here but go to bed, is there?” she observed, looking at the soft mattress unrolled on the woven rush mats. It took up most of the floor space that wasn’t occupied by the chair to his com station.

“You’re sure that’s what you want to do?” he said, frowning.

“Having second thoughts?”

“Let me kiss you again and then I’ll tell you.”

 

* * *

 

“Like this?” Obi-Wan said, gently slipping a finger into the tight opening, relief making him lightheaded.

Qui-Gon inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, barely nodding.

So silent this man, in their lovemaking, never letting out much more than a quiet groan even in the throes of orgasm. Obi-Wan had always been the shouter and thrasher, the one who made love with abandon, begged and talked dirty, came with unabashed and unmuffled pleasure. Not Qui-Gon. No matter what, that iron control pertained, as though he were afraid of what would come out. For some time, Obi-Wan had suspected that had not always been the case, that Qui-Gon’s silence and control had been a product of their unequal relationship. There had been, in the past, moments when the control had nearly broken, when Qui-Gon had needed him, needed someone, so badly that his need found a voice in its fulfillment. He remembered the night on Haki when the mission had made Qui-Gon so despairing that the dark hung like fog around their bed, and the almost-savage lovemaking that dissipated it had also released something in his master that Obi-Wan suspected then had not been revealed in years. He’d come, howling his lover’s name, shaking and wild, almost sobbing, and Obi-Wan had been thrilled.

Now, he twisted his finger, raked over his lover’s prostate, was rewarded only with a gasp and the spasm of muscles around him. He leaned over and licked the pearl of fluid from Qui-Gon’s cock, swirling his tongue over the crown, biting and pulling the ring. The older man’s hips tried to follow the tug but Obi-Wan held him down and slid a second finger inside. Qui-Gon grunted and the ring of muscles contracted almost painfully hard. He’d never been this tight before; even the bond between them felt choked, constricted. Obi-Wan stopped moving and let his lover grow used to having him there, his other hand stroking Qui-Gon’s belly soothingly, until his harsh gasps evened out. After a time, the muscles began to relax again and Obi-Wan worked his fingers in and out in a circular motion, stroking him open gently, now and then brushing his prostate or worrying that wonderful gold ring just to sharpen the edge. He watched what he was doing, and felt Qui-Gon’s gaze heavy on him.

“More,” Qui-Gon growled finally.

Obi-Wan removed his fingers, lubricated three this time, and carefully pressed inward, just up to the first knuckle. Qui-Gon’s breathing sharpened and his whole pelvis tensed as he lifted himself, trying reflexively to move away. Again, Obi-Wan soothed him, stroking his other hand up and down the tense muscles of the leg resting against him, rubbing his cheek against the calf and knee as he leaned forward again and pushed inward slowly. Qui-Gon hissed at the bulk stretching him as they slid inward to the second knuckle, far enough again to touch his prostate, and then to the third, palm flush against his perineum, cupping him. Obi-Wan spread his fingers slowly, widening the passage.

Qui-Gon was trembling now, breathing fast and hard, fists clenched in the sheets, moving against him. Obi-Wan twisted his fingers in and out, spread them a little, keeping them slick until they moved with ease and some of the tension left the older man’s legs and pelvis. He watched his lover’s face now, the jaw working as pleasure skirmished with pain, finally winning out; watched him give in to that pleasure fearfully, reluctantly; watched his features settle into the familiar mask of desire, overlaid now with something less familiar: need. Need and something not quite desperation.

Through their heightened bond, Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon struggling with himself, struggling to open himself emotionally the way his lover was opening him physically. Even now, the old barrier lay between them, the wall his master had kept around himself since they had first become lovers.

“I’m not that boy anymore, Qui-Gon,” he said quietly. “Let it go. Show me the man who’s not the master. Tell me what you need.”

Qui-Gon looked up at him, pleading silently.

“Tell me. What are you afraid of? That I won’t give it? That I would hurt you? I’m not your other lovers, Qui. I’m not Xanatos. You’re not responsible for me anymore. Let it go. Trust me.”

Qui-Gon was trembling violently now, eyes wild and panicked, pleading.

“Stop?”

“No!”

 _So hard for you to say it,_ Obi-Wan thought sadly. _So hard for you to let go._ Maybe he could change that.

He stroked inside gently, sending waves of pleasure through Qui-Gon’s body, watching as they broke over him, slowly eroding the foundation of the wall he had built so many years before Obi-Wan had entered his life. There was nothing quite like this, this touching of his lover so intimately, almost as though he were reaching not just inside his body but inside his heart and soul to touch what was hidden there. He had always loved preparing his lover, touching and stroking him inside like this, from the very first time Qui-Gon had let him in, and now he let his own pleasure in the act, his joy and wonder in the intimacy, flow through their deepened bond, hoping it would fill Qui-Gon. His lover’s breath hitched in his chest as it did, but it seemed only to make him more frantic, his shields tighter.

 _Gods, what’s in there that he doesn’t want to let out?_ Obi-Wan wondered. _And do I really want to know?_ He looked at his lover, seeing an almost abject terror etched in his features, tasted it sour and cold in their bond. It was like that night on Li’ir all over again. Qui-Gon might have given himself in words, but he had been the master too long.

“You don’t really want this, do you?” he said in quiet defeat, withdrawing his fingers and letting his lover loose again, knowing it was over. “I’m sorry, love. I thought—”

Qui-Gon surged up and caught his wrist before he could pull away entirely. “Please, Obi-Wan. Please. It’s time. I can’t—I can’t do this alone.”

Obi-Wan hesitated.

“Please. . . .”

“What am I doing, Qui? Am I punishing you like that one night I fucked you so hard it made us both bleed? Is that what you want? If it is, I won’t do it.”

“No. You’re not punishing me. It’s not—It’s not pain I’m after. Not this time.” Each word seemed wrung out of him as he forced himself to meet his lover’s gaze.

“What, then?”

“Release,” he whispered.

 

* * *

 

They sat down on the end of the bed, or Bruck sat and Isa straddled his lap as their mouths met. “You’re a good kisser too,” he told her, because she was, even though it was different from what he was used to. The heat was still there, which surprised him, but the usual ferocity he and Ben displayed for each other was nowhere to be found. He wanted her, but the desperation he felt around Ben didn’t seem to have a place here. There was only a pleasant anticipation, a warm coal of arousal.

After a while, they started to touch each other. Isa was the first to open the fastenings on his clothing. “Oh—look!” she giggled when she’d gotten his shirt off him. “It’s pierced! That’s so crack!” Her lips brushed over it, then her tongue, both warm and wet, flicking it lightly. He heard himself moan.

She guided his hands to the fastenings on her dress and he opened them slowly, sliding his hands inside, astonished again by the strange softness of her skin beneath them. Like every padawan, she was athletic and limber, but with Isa there was a deceiving sense of delicacy, despite her height, the steel of muscles not so obvious beneath the silky skin. But he’d seen her in tournaments and knew that, though stealth was more her style, a fight with her would come down to brute strength, kilo for kilo, and who had the better technique. If her technique were good enough, she had a good chance of beating him, despite his own awards. His hands slid up her muscular thighs to the hem of the clingy rust and copper dress, pushed it up. She rose up on her knees so he could slide it under her buttocks and up around her waist, over her ribs, her breasts, off the arms she raised over her head. There was nothing else underneath but her. He swallowed hard. “Beautiful,” he murmured, and she was. Leanly muscled and unmistakably curvy, with softly rounded hips, high, round breasts with small, pink nipples, all of her lightly freckled. “Very, very beautiful,” he breathed.

“And just like a field blaster,” she said, grinning. “Easy to strip for action.”

“Thank the Hundred Little Gods,” he murmured fervently, hands and gaze roaming. He cupped her breasts in both hands, felt the nipples crinkle in his palms. She sighed and held his hands there for a moment, eyes closed, clearly enjoying the sensations his callouses made on them.

Finally, she reached for his fly, opened his pants, pushed him back onto the bed and slid the leather down his legs. “You too, huh?”

“Can’t get much on underneath them,” he explained. “And they’re lined.” Then he was naked beneath her, strong thighs straddling his hips. And all of a sudden it was too fast, too much like Leth, though it wasn’t anything like that had been at all. Panic made his heart thud faster than lust had and his erection began to wilt, which only made it worse. He liked Isa, he wanted to do this, for the first time in a long time with someone other than Ben, and now his body wouldn’t cooperate. Shit shit shit shit—

“Cold feet?” she asked, frowning, not at him but his softening cock.

“It’s not you—”

“Old ghosts? Or current lovers?” she asked, not angry but sympathetic, and closer to the mark than she knew.

Or perhaps she did know, and that was part of the problem too, wondering how easily she could read him. “More the former than the latter, I think. I’m sorry—”

“Shush. It’s not a problem, if you’re still interes—”

“Yeah, I am. Really.”

“Then I’m sure that’s not the only trick you know, is it?”

“No,” he admitted, grinning again, pulling her down and rolling them both so she was beneath him.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan said nothing for a moment, merely looked into his lover’s eyes, and then at his hands. One was still wrapped around his own wrist, the other clawed into the mattress as though he were trying to dig a handhold. The palms were broad and muscular, pale and calloused inside, deeply veined and tan on top; the fingers thick and roughened, the last joint too short, the nails small and flattened and blunt, making the whole ensemble unlovely. And yet Obi-Wan loved them, and they were beautiful to him. Those hands had plaited and tied his braid, cut his hair, soothed his hurts, held him, dug him frantically from a landslide of mud, broken his ribs making him live again, stripped him, dressed him, bathed him, corrected him, taught him, bound him, cut and healed and decorated him, caressed him to ecstasy. Held him tenderly. Touched him, inside and out. But, more often than not, Qui-Gon stood or sat with them hidden in his sleeves, as though all too aware of their appearance. Obi-Wan wondered now if he’d been sensitive about them as a boy.

He laughed suddenly, thinking of Qui-Gon as a young, ungainly pup, all knees and elbows and long legs, with hands and feet he might never grow into. And how graceful he’d become, how beautiful . . . .

Obi-Wan cleaned his own hands, took Qui-Gon’s beloved, unlovely ones in them, kissed the palms and each finger, smelling their lovemaking there. He rubbed his face against their callouses, felt Qui-Gon curl his fingers gently against his cheeks.

“I’m not the only one you’ve asked this of, am I?” Obi-Wan said, looking up, still holding those rough and so-gentle hands. He saw the truth in Qui-Gon’s face before his words confirmed it, felt the old pain through their bond.

“No. But it was . . . a long time ago. Long before you. When I was much younger.”

“And more trusting. Or more open. Before you had the responsibility of padawans.”

“Yes.” And his voice was hoarse, breaking, as though he were that young again.

“And Mace said no.”

Qui-Gon said nothing. Oh, worse. Much worse, Obi-Wan realized.

“He thought it was disgusting?” Obi-Wan could imagine Bruck’s reaction being much the same. He hadn’t liked rimming either. But that hadn’t particularly bothered Obi-Wan, and he couldn’t imagine a similar reaction bothering— “He thought you were disgusting?” Qui-Gon started to pull away; Obi-Wan refused to let him. “And Bruck keeps telling me what a little priss I am.”

“I think ‘perverted’ was the word he used, at the time,” Qui-Gon said, voice icy and distant, shields thick around him like a cold-weather cloak.

“Sith hells,” Obi-Wan snarled, derision in it. “Does he think he shits perfume moths?”

A wry if somewhat saddened smile touched Qui-Gon’s lips and fled again. “I don’t believe Mace ‘shits’ at all. He may defecate. Possibly. But he would never shit.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “I see. A fact I shall file away for future reference.”

It must have been shortly before Qui-Gon took Ayana as his first padawan, not long after Windu had been knighted himself. Obi-Wan could imagine it: They would have seen less and less of each other after that night; slept together more infrequently; drifted apart even as friends; quarreled outright, finally, and parted acrimoniously. Obi-Wan thought it was probably the last time Qui-Gon had let anyone else inside his body but his padawan. He kissed Qui-Gon’s hands again, held them with tender firmness.

“You’ve never liked your hands, have you?”

Qui-Gon looked surprised. “No, not really. I’ve always thought they looked more like a miner’s hands than a diplomat’s.”

“I’ve never liked mine either,” Obi-Wan confessed. “They’ve always looked thick and clumsy to me. But Bruck likes them, and yours—you do such beautiful things with them. Calligraphy. The bladework on my back. The way you hold your books. They look elegant, though they’re not. They move elegantly, like the rest of you.”

“Mace has beautiful hands.”

“So does Bruck. Why mine?”

“Because you touch me the way none of my other lovers ever has, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon whispered. “I—I wanted Mace to know me. I tried to show him—things about me he—that I had never showed anyone, that no one else seemed to understand, except my master.”

“The way you see everything through the Force, the way you feel it and inhabit it,” Obi-Wan added.

Qui-Gon nodded. “He couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. ‘It’s all the same,’ he’d tell me.”

“It’s not.”

“No. And yet it is part of a whole. We are parts of the whole. I thought if he—touched me, that way, he might—if we were that intimate, it might . . . he might . . . see me, see who I am. That we’re not the same, that we’re complements of each other.”

“And he wouldn’t.”

Qui-Gon shook his head and closed his eyes. Their bond pulsed between them with the hurt as it was acknowledged and released in a long breath. An old pain, Obi-Wan thought, the first of many that had made his master who he was. And this put his ongoing argument with Windu about the nature of the Force in an entirely new light. For a moment, he wondered why it was different between them then realized, remembering the night in the Temple garden, that it was because he had been an apprentice, obliged to learn whatever he was taught by his master—and his lover. Qui-Gon had been able to give him something, in the guise of a lesson, that a peer would not necessarily take. But the nature of the Force had never been an academic argument between them. He’d known from the very beginning that Qui-Gon’s connection to it was warmer, more emotional, that it was less a tool than another aspect of himself.

“You never had even a lover’s bond with Mace?”

“Not much of one. He’s—a very private man.”

“Have you with anyone, Qui? Your training bonds are so strong.”

“Just you.” And he seemed ashamed. “Like your training bond with me, it was there before I knew it. The others were built very consciously. And I’d thought the bond I had with Mace was strong, until ours formed. I’m sorry, I never meant for this to—”

Obi-Wan put a firm hand over his mouth. “Shut up, Qui. I’m not Mace. I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t give you, if you asked me. Don’t you think it’s supposed to be this way? Why do you think I chased you so persistently on Bandomeer? I knew it was right. I knew you were meant to be my master. I just didn’t know then that you were also meant to be my heart. Let me touch you the way you want to be touched.”

 

* * *

 

 

 _Different, different, not the same_ Bruck kept telling himself. And it was different from Leth, from Ben. Slower, funnier, gentler. Isa was ticklish nearly everywhere, and laughed a lot in between encouraging noises. “Oh, Bruck,” she breathed, “oh that’s so nice. So nice. Mmmm. That’s it. Right there. Don’t stop. So good,” squirming and giggling as he touched her. She combed her long fingers through his hair, petted him, seemed to enjoy his touch but wasn’t shy about directing it. It was surprisingly easy to make her come just with fingers and mouth, and he went hard, finally, hearing her breathing quicken, and the noises she made, watching her luminous green eyes close and her body arch up against his hands, meeting his mouth in a wet, salty-sweet kiss. And when she did come, he could feel the wash of sensations she felt, in his own groin, tingling up his spine, going on much longer than his own orgasms ever did. He shuddered with her, heard himself gasping along with her, felt his cock fill more, his balls and anus tighten. Better, he felt her pleasure and delight in him—so different from just hearing or seeing or even understanding it intellectually.

It was nothing like the lover’s bond he shared with Ben, and yet very similar to it. He was conscious of Ben’s presence whenever he thought about it, like a steady flame in his heart, but Isa’s faded from him when the strong emotions had run their course, leaving an aftertaste behind, and the possibility of that connection reappearing. He caught what were, in essence, glimpses of who she was at those moments, hoped she was getting the same from him.

“More than you know,” Isa whispered, and wrapped her legs around his waist as he slid inside, hard as he’d ever been for Ben. She moved with him, hands gliding over his back, settling on his ass, pulling him in closer, tighter. He was amazed how well they fit together, how deeply he could lose himself in her, how tight and hot she was around him. She slid a hand between them to stroke herself and he shifted to change the angle, pushing their pubic bones together with each stroke, so she came again when he did. Again, her orgasm rippled through him like aftershocks, muscles contracting around him and wash of sensation flowing up his spine, making him shudder and rock against her for what felt like a very long time even after he’d come. He’d never felt anything like that before, not with Ben, not with anyone. He was amazed how good it felt, how much it made him feel like her, or at the very least connected, somehow, with her, in a way he’d not ever been with casual lovers. His ability to give her that pleasure made him absurdly happy.

He rolled off and pulled her against him, both of them sweaty and sleepy, Bruck surprised at how content he felt. He yawned, hugged her briefly, kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, the path of the freckles across it.“Gods, that was so crack,”he said quoting her. Then he laughed.

 

* * *

 

Gently, Obi-Wan pushed his lover back down kissed him and stroked him until the trembling eased. “We might not be able to do this tonight, love. It’s been a long time for you. It doesn’t mean we never will, all right?”

“I want this—”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Greedy. I know you do. What were you always teaching me about patience?”

“Ah, once more ‘the padawan teaches the master,’” Qui-Gon quoted, but smiled too as he said it, an easier smile than Obi-Wan had seen in what felt, suddenly, like years. “There’s more lube, in the drawer there.”

“You have been planning this out, haven’t you?” he said, amused.

“Not planning. Hoping. For longer than you can imagine, my heart,” Qui-Gon admitted.

Watching Qui-Gon, who was watching him in turn with a newly calm determination, he again lifted one of the long legs against him, letting Qui-Gon pull the other back against his chest, and pressed the neck of the new lubricant tube where his fingers had been, squeezing a generous portion of it into his lover’s rectum, and used much of the rest to liberally coat his fingers and hand. Then he bunched his fingers together and carefully worked the tips of all four through that stretched opening.

Qui-Gon gasped and tensed, hips rising off the bed. Already, the girth was more than Obi-Wan’s cock, but not quite as much as Qui-Gon’s own erect shaft, and his body protested. “Shhhh, love. We’ll go slow. We can stop anytime you say,” Obi-Wan reassured him.

“Don’t stop.” Plea, command, it was hard to tell which. But there was no ambivalence of need.

“Not yet, love. Just slow down.” He rotated his hand in a circle, the pads of his fingers spreading lubricant, gently stretching the muscles. “Breathe slow. Deep breaths. Relax.”

It wasn’t pain at all that Qui-Gon was after, Obi-Wan understood that. It was contact. He wanted someone to bring him out from behind his shields, see what he saw, know what he knew, and love him. And it had been so long—most of his life—that he didn’t seem to know what to ask for or how to ask for it anymore. So Obi-Wan would have to teach him.

“Remember the first time I did this with you?” he said, looking into Qui-Gon’s eyes as his fingers worked gently inside. “Everything was so new, it was like I’d never made love with anyone before. It took you three days then to let me in. Do you remember what it was like?”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said, voice and focus soft with the memory.

“Is that what you want?”

“To be that free with you. Yes.”

“That barrier you put up between us doesn’t have to be there anymore, Qui. You were right to put it up, but the need for it is gone now. Show me what you’re feeling. Does it feel good?”

Obi-Wan eased in a little farther, his lover moaning and arching his back in response, pushing against his fingers, suddenly urgent. “Don’t stop,” he hissed again, breath coming in short gasps. Their bond flared between them and Obi-Wan could feel the pain as well as Qui-Gon’s mounting excitement and desire. It sent a shudder through both of them. “Now. Now!” Qui-Gon demanded.

“No!” Obi-Wan barked. “Wait, Qui. I don’t want to hurt you. It doesn’t have to hurt. Relax. Slow down,” he repeated. He turned his hand slowly, slowly, spreading the fingers and easing the gradually loosening muscles even more. Qui-Gon rocked against him, or tried to, shivering, once again desperate with need.

“Give yourself time to feel it, Qui. Feel my fingers. Feel your own body.”

Though he could sense through their bond that it was still hurting, he wasn’t sure Qui-Gon could tell the difference, and Obi-Wan wanted him to. He added more lubricant and stroked inside with the pads of his fingers, thumb following the ring of muscle outside with a light touch, stimulating the nerves there. Slowly, Qui-Gon gentled again under his hands and only then did he brush against the hard little gland inside. The sensation went like an electric shock through their bond, Qui-Gon crying out, muscles tensing. Obi-Wan brushed the pad of one finger over the same spot, felt the muscles tighten around him, “Oh gods Obi-Wan,” his lover moaned, one hand clutching the sheets, the other still holding himself open. “Please don’t stop.”

But he did, shifting his attention instead to Qui-Gon’s cock and the gold ring glinting there as it lay against his belly. Leaning down, pressing Qui-Gon’s leg back, he licked up the underside and threaded his tongue through the ring again, teasing the crown, refocusing the sensation. “Come on, Qui, let go,” he murmured, nuzzling the heat and slickness. He took one of Qui-Gon’s testicles into his mouth and sucked gently, tongue stroking it like a piece of candy. His lover squirmed and groaned softly, head thrown back—but that was all. Frustrated, Obi-Wan tucked his thumb into the palm of his hand and pressed inward to the third knuckle. Qui-Gon sucked in air, hissing and tensing, and Obi-Wan stopped.

The feedback through their bond was a more reliable indicator of what Qui-Gon was feeling than any other evidence. It flared bright and clear and warm between them, showing him everything he’d ever suspected about his master: his deep love for his apprentice, boy and man, his utter trust and pride in the man that apprentice had become, the great need for someone to share his gift of connection to the Force, the terrible fear of being hurt again, the more terrible fear of never being able to open himself fully again. It was that last Qui-Gon was struggling with now, that he wanted Obi-Wan to overcome, and could not overcome on his own. //Reach in. Touch me. Take me. Lay me open.// “Hurry!” he moaned, panting.

Slowly, Obi-Wan pressed inward, tearing a cry out of his lover that he’d never heard before. There was pain and fear in it, and not of the body, but there was also ecstasy.

 

Qui-Gon bore down on the fingers pressing into him, and Obi-Wan’s broad hand finally slipped past the last ring of muscles. Qui-Gon shuddered, crying out, tensing, arching as his lover’s hand slid fully into him, filling him more than he’d ever been before, and the bond was suddenly wide open between them, making the connection he’d been seeking. It hurt, oh it hurt, his body so resistant to it and what it meant. His muscles clamped down hard and Obi-Wan grunted in response then stroked over his belly and cock, mouth moving warm and wet over the inside of his knee and thigh, soothing, loving him. Pleasuring him. Loving him. His lover’s fingers flexed a little, closing over that hidden spot that sent a wash of flame through him. He wanted to move and knew he couldn’t, knew that he was now so much at another’s mercy that he had no choice but to lie still and let his lover do as he would—do exactly what Qui-Gon had already asked—to take him. He closed his eyes, feeling trapped, exposed, exhilarated. It felt so right having Obi-Wan inside him like this, touching him the way no one else had, holding his body and his trust like the fragile things they were . . . and it was also deeply frightening.

 

* * *

 

“See?” Isa said, kissing him back. “Told you it wasn’t a problem. That was wonderful. Ghosts gone?”

“Yeah, seem to be. It was a long time ago, anyway.”

“Your master?” she asked gently. “Though it’s none of my business,” she was quick to add.

“Guess that story got around, didn’t it? Yeah. That’s the last time I slept with anyone until Ben came along, and only him since.”

She kissed him gently, pulled his head onto her shoulder, held him. “Is that why you’ve only slept with Obi-Wan until now? Not ready to trust women after that? Can’t say I blame you.”

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Isa had said it in such a matter-of-fact tone, so offhandedly, as though it were only logical, and in the asking, made the past five years of his life make sense. The insight struck him like lightning, stunned him, silenced him. Scared him. Had he been that wounded, for that long?

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan watched his former master shivering, half in arousal, half in fear, both of them swamped by the emotions coming through their bond. He’d never imagined Qui-Gon like this, had never gotten more than the tiniest glimpse of how truly defenseless his master was. And it did have everything to do with his connection to the Force—why Windu couldn’t see that he didn’t understand. Qui-Gon felt everything, despite his adamantine shields. The same gift that enabled him to read the collective mood of a room and the individuals in it, sense the pivot points in negotiations, and make love with the innumerable inhabitants of Coruscant made him suffer the degradation of a woman in a war zone prison camp hundreds of klicks away. He wondered if the Order truly understood what an asset they had. So few human males had this connection to the Living Force, and of those, so few of them were actually able to make use of it in the field, most of them living out their days as mystics and adepts, gently fading into the Force all their lives. Instead, Qui-Gon had locked so much of himself away against that bliss, wanting only someone who would share it with him. Obi-Wan found it both sad and deeply wrong that no one else had been able to. _Ten thousand Jedi, and no one else could see you like this?_ he wondered. _What’s wrong with us?_

He closed his eyes against the tide of sudden loneliness. Echoing his emotions, he heard the hitch in Qui-Gon’s breathing, the soft, “So long, I’ve waited so long. . . .”

“Qui, look at me,” Obi-Wan said, but he couldn’t. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “It’s all right. I see. I know,” and bent to the task of pleasuring the man he loved.

Qui-Gon shuddered beneath his young lover’s touch and the fullness of his hand inside, nearly blind with desire. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s tension, the need to surge up against his lover though pinned by his own desires, held by Obi-Wan’s skillful hands and mouth. All he could do was rock into them, and only a little, crying out in frustration.

 _//Louder. I want to hear you. . . .//_ Obi-Wan drew away, all but the hand inside, blew across the tip of Qui-Gon’s wet cock, leaving it quivering, and looked up into his eyes. “Louder, I said. Say my name.”

Closed fingers nudged his prostate, sending another visible wave of fire through him, snapping his head back against the mattress. “Obi-Wan!” he cried.

“Louder. ‘Obi-Wan’ what?” The fingers raked him inside again.

“Ahh—Obi-Wan don’t . . . don’t stop” he gasped, shaking.

“Louder. I’m the only one who’ll hear you, and there was a time when you didn’t care who did anyway. Remember that? When we didn’t get out of bed for three days and I was doing the screaming? Louder. Let go.”

“Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon cried. “Please Love, Obi-Wan, don’t stop, deeper—” The younger man’s hand moved inside him again, slipping back, threatening to slip out, and he arched against him, bearing down, pushing his lover in deeper instead. “Obi-Wan! Gods! Don’t! Want you inside! Deeper!”

Qui-Gon howled as Obi-Wan flexed his hand, moving it inside just a little, pushing in, filling him. He felt the weight in his own rectum, the pressure and heat and solidity of being filled, touched inside so intimately that it nearly strangled him with pleasure and amazement. He was holding Qui-Gon from the inside. Holding him still, holding him down, holding his core, his heart, his essence. It made Qui-Gon shake like an addict in withdrawal, robbed him of speech. He was crying out wordlessly now, as Obi-Wan gently squeezed his balls, teased his cock and moved so carefully inside him. His legs and shoulders tensed, his free hand clutched the sheets, scrabbling for purchase until Obi-Wan pinned him with the Force, giving him something to struggle against.

“Oh gods love, I need to come!” he cried.

_//Not yet. We’re not done yet.//_

For several long moments he was perfectly still, until the crisis passed. Then, with more lube, Obi-Wan reached in farther, almost impossibly deeper, still tugging and squeezing Qui-Gon’s balls, still teasing the crown of his cock. Again, Obi-Wan opened himself up so that each felt the other deeply inside his lover’s body, expanded and filled by his lover’s hand and wrist and forearm, all of it slick and warm, so deeply enmeshed that it would take effort to separate them, so deeply it almost made them one entity. He felt Qui-Gon’s own wonder at having so much of him inside, holding so much of him so deeply in his body, holding him and taking him in like a child cradled for the last few moments in its mother’s body. Something ignited in Qui-Gon’s groin, some fire that had been banked long ago, spreading flame and heat up his spine and into his limbs, and through Obi-Wan’s as well. Between them shimmered, like heat haze, Obi-Wan’s awe and pleasure and amazement, and Qui-Gon’s own almost unbearable arousal fed back to him. Qui-Gon saw himself through his lover’s eyes: long, muscular body straining, sheened in sweat, hair wild and damp, clinging to his shoulders and neck in wet tendrils, and his own face—eyes shut, nostrils flaring, mouth panting, the mask painted with . . . ecstasy.

“O gods, O gods, Obi-Wan!” he cried, shuddering, near climax again.

Obi-Wan let the new bond expand and deepen between them, let it merge into the Living Force around them until neither was certain where their edges were. They surrounded and penetrated each other, lay helpless and ecstatic under each other’s touch. Qui-Gon looked up into languid blue-green eyes, pupils large with desire. _//Meet me, Qui-Gon. Reach out to me. Let’s go up in flames together.//_ He tasted his own essence in Obi-Wan’s mouth along with the sharp tang of metal, smelled sweat and musk that belonged to both of them. He saw not just himself, but both of them, interlocked and struggling in the throes of love like two combatants, his shields finally falling to Obi-Wan, who had reached so far inside him emotionally by touching him physically. Coloring all was Obi-Wan’s deep, generous, unconditional love in all its facets, for Qui-Gon as master, father, brother, teacher, lover—all the roles of dominance he had played at one time or another—and for Qui-Gon at his weakest, in pain, sick, exhausted, injured, lashing out without reason, domineering out of fear, withholding in anger, silently needy. He felt himself weeping, knew Obi-Wan was too, having seen at last just how deep his former master’s own love and need for him ran.

Above all of that, enveloping both of them in the warmth they felt for each other magnified a multitude of times, was the Living Force, pulsing with life, rejoicing in and reflecting their love.

“I never knew, I never knew,” the younger man murmured, damp cheek resting against his lover’s knee. “Not even in the garden. Oh gods, Qui. I love you so much. No more waiting.”

“Padawan! Oh, Obi-Wan, gods, hurry!” Qui-Gon panted and wept.

Bond still wide open between them and to the Living Force, Obi-Wan moved a little inside him, taking his cock in at the same time, swallowing around him, throat muscles rippling as his other hand rolled and squeezed and tugged his balls. He fed back everything he was feeling to his lover, until they were both awash, drowning in sensations and emotions, until they released them into the Force together and they were making love not just to each other but with the life around them.

Through the bond, it felt—when Qui-Gon came shouting his name, Obi-Wan in turn broadcasting Qui-Gon’s as they climaxed together—a little like dying had.

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Isa said quietly, sounding worried, “hey, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“No,” Bruck told her, leaning back, looking at her as though he’d never truly seen her before. And maybe he hadn’t. “No, it’s okay. I just— I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”

“It must have been pretty awful,” she said tentatively, as though not sure whether to say anything more.

“When I finally remembered, it was. When she died, the training bond just snapped—”

“And you went into shock,” she finished. Bruck nodded.

“I came out of it a couple of days later, in the Halls. Then I started to remember. Ben told me a little more. He was the only one who came to see me. The only person who’d talk to me afterwards, besides the healers, and Master Koth. The only person who didn’t seem to think it was my fault.”

“That’s not true, Bruck. Nobody thought it was your fault. Everybody blamed your master. It just—it was hard to talk to you then. Nobody knew what to say. And you were so prickly. We should have tried harder. No wonder Kenobi’s the only one you’d sleep with. You’re not sorry we—”

“No!” he said vehemently, squeezing her. “Definitely not. Are you?”

“No,” she replied thoughtfully. “That’s, um, it’s the first time I’ve felt that connected with someone afterwards, in a long time, Bruck. You were with me when I came, weren’t you? You could feel it too? I could feel you.”

“Oh, yeah. That was—amazing. Wonderful. I’ve never done that before. Not even with Ben. You don’t do that with everyone?”

“That’s why I don’t do it with everyone,” she said grimly. “Without that, I just feel . . . lonely, afterwards. Like I’m all by myself whether someone’s with me or not. So I’ve just figured I might as well be, if that’s all I get out of it.”

“Yeah, it’s just scratching an itch otherwise, isn’t it?”

“Or so much calisthenics.”

“And I’d rather run or lift.”

“Me too.”

They were silent for a few moments, Bruck running his thumb over one of her nipples again. “I like the way you laugh all the time, that you’re so ticklish. It’s fun touching you, making you laugh.”

“Well, it’s pretty funny, isn’t it? The positions we get ourselves into. The noises we make.” She started to moan dramatically. “ _Oh, harder! Oh! Right there! Oh, please!_ It’s silly. Wonderful, but silly.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said hesitantly, thinking of the few times he’d made fun of Ben, how embarrassed he’d been by Bruck’s imitations. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m not a very serious person when I’m not working, Bruck,” she smiled. “Are you?”

“I have been. It’s been about the only way I could get through . . .”

“I see,” she said, stroking his cheek with the backs of her knuckles. “Yes, I guess you’ve sort of had to be. But I know you’ve got a wicked sense of humor. I’ve heard it before. I like that you make me laugh, that you like making me laugh. Wanna tickle me some more?” she said slyly, and flicked the barbell in his nipple.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan felt as if every electron in his body had been boosted to a higher orbit, then flown apart and reordered itself into a new element. He heard harsh breathing, some of it in counterpoint with his own and interspersed with quiet moans. Opening his eyes, he found himself resting against his lover’s belly, sticky and sated, still sunk to the elbow—oh gods. He sat up then, and gently slipped out of his lover, relieved to see as he cleaned himself up that there was no blood. He’d been intentionally careful, even when Qui-Gon had not wanted him to be, for just this reason. He had physically hurt the man once, and would not do so again, not for any reason. Qui-Gon, still moaning softly, seemed almost unconscious, and Obi-Wan reached through their bond to make certain he was all right.

Deep blue eyes awash with tears opened with the touch, fixing on him. The moisture trembled there for a moment, then slipped from the corners and down his face as he reached for his lover. Obi-Wan crawled up on the bed beside him and went gladly into Qui-Gon’s embrace, their feet propped together on the bench until both had the strength to move back up onto the mattress. They lay together silently for a long time, just breathing, Qui-Gon seeming to have the hardest time collecting himself. He trembled under Obi-Wan’s hands, even under the covers he pulled up over both of them, until he realized it was nothing more than the aftershocks of adrenalin.

The bond was an open window between them, sunlight streaming through it to warm both of them. On Qui-Gon’s end was a sort of stunned amazement and the sense that more than one wall had crumbled—some, perhaps, that he hadn’t even realized were there. Obi-Wan rested his head on his lover’s chest, nuzzling into the familiar scent of skin and sweat and semen, deeply content and thoroughly exhausted, satisfied that Qui-Gon would weather the aftermath.

After a time—though neither of them remembered just how, later—they disentangled themselves, cleaned up as much as possible without bathing, and fell headlong into a stupefied sleep, as though tumbling into a deep abyss, holding each other as they fell.

 

* * *

 

Bruck had a moment of dislocation the next morning when he woke with Isa in his arms. She was curled against him the same way Kenobi usually was but there was less mass than he was used to and it was in different places. Then she turned over in his arms, disconcertingly bright-eyed for the hour. Even in the morning, her breath was sweet as she kissed him. And she wasn’t shy about reaching for his morning erection. Though her callouses were in the same places as his own and Ben’s, her grip was different.

“Oh gods,” he murmured as she began to stroke him, slowly at first, then faster and with a tighter grip. When he was nearly ready to come, she stopped, getting a frustrated cry for her efforts, and kissed him again, opening his mouth with her tongue, tickling the roof of his mouth, distracting him. Then she broke away and pushed the sheet down, and the next thing he knew, he was on his back and she was kneeling beside him, one hand gripping him at the root, her mouth hot and wet around the crown, tongue flicking into the slit. Her technique was different, but just as effective as Ben’s and in a few moments his balls had drawn up tight and he was trying not to thrust too deeply into her mouth. “Isa—” he gasped. “I’m—oh—” he tried to warn her. She sucked harder and he came with a cry, fingers gripped in her hair. And she was there with him, somehow, riding the crest with him as she swallowed and licked him clean with evident pleasure. “That’s an interesting flavor,” she observed, snuggling up to him. “I’ve never done that before.”

“You didn’t have to. I tried to warn you,” he murmured, feeling a little stunned.

“I heard you,” she grinned.

“Oh, okay. Just so you knew. Did I pull your hair?”

“Not hard. But you got pretty excited there.”

“Well, it felt pretty good,” he grinned back. “Can I return the favor?”

“I’m a little sore this morning. Nothing you did,” she hastened to add. “It’s just been a while. Another time?”

He took a moment to answer, searching his feelings, finding it felt surprisingly right. He wanted to see her again. He’d enjoyed her company, enjoyed making love with her, laughing, trading banter, figuring out what she liked, what made her come. He liked that she drank Black Holes, that she giggled, that she was ticklish. He liked the shape of her, the silk of her skin, the way she was padded, how strong she was in his arms, the patterns of freckles like constellations, that she wasn’t shy and knew what she wanted. He liked that she was different from him, physically. He’d forgotten how much he liked those differences. He liked most of all that she knew his foibles and many of his secrets and was as unaffected by them as Ben. That was a strange new feeling, one he didn’t recognize for a moment until he realized it was trust. He trusted Isa. He was a little afraid he was falling in love, too. “I’d like that,” he said softly.

“It’s not going to be a problem with you and Kenobi?”

“No. I think Ben might actually be relieved. I think he feels spread a little thin sometimes. As long as you know—”

She touched his lips. “I know. Everybody knows. It’s so obvious when you’re together.” She sat up cross-legged on the bed, nodded toward the drawing in the frame over it. “It shows in this, too. Every line’s like a caress. It’s beautiful. I never knew you were so talented, Bruck. Why don’t you ever exhibit with everyone else in temple?”

 _Oh shit,_ Bruck thought. He’d forgotten about the drawing. He felt his face go hot.

Over the bed was a large black and white ink drawing of a figure that was clearly Kenobi from the Danjii figures down his spine, though the view was head-on and his face wasn’t visible. He was on his knees in what was equally clearly this bed, head turned to the side and pressed to the sheets, legs spread, braid curling across one shoulder, arms reaching back to hold himself open. Bruck’s signature was plain in the corner, over the title, “Waiting.” He’d never meant for anyone to see it, even the subject, but in the process of laying the rush flooring a few years ago, Kenobi had backed himself into the closet and knocked over the sketchbook in which it resided. That had led to a whole new set of excavations, Bruck protesting half-heartedly. Ben had found a number of quick sketches of himself asleep and awake, erotic and not, but only this one had been finished in ink. The rest of the book contained graphite sketches of various people, some familiar and some strangers. This was only one of two Bruck had agreed to display, and that only here, though he’d done more since then. The other was a portrait of Ben and his master that Ben had commissioned and given to Qui-Gon for one of their padawan-anniversaries. But unlike that decidedly mundane portrait, once this one had been framed, he’d never meant anyone but Kenobi or his master to see it; but then, he’d never thought he’d be sleeping with anyone else, either.

“You’re embarrassed? Bruck, it’s beautiful. It’s so—I don’t know—poignant, somehow. He looks so vulnerable, and so trusting. You really love him, don’t you?”

He nodded, looked away.

She touched his chin, made him look at her. “That feeling is nothing, nothing to be ashamed of. Hear me? Neither is your talent. Don’t you dare. If you don’t want anyone else to know that you draw, I won’t tell anyone, but I still think you ought to exhibit. You’re better than a lot of stuff I see in the padawan art shows, and some of the stuff I’ve seen in galleries.”

“Thanks,” he said, feeling awkward. “I just—I couldn’t.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute or two, just looked at him, brows drawn together in puzzlement.

“What?” he said finally, uncomfortable.

“I know you’re not shy. . . .” she began, hesitated, thought for a while again. “But you’re very private, aren’t you?”

“I just don’t like drawing that kind of attention to myself. It would be like—flaunting.”

“Flaunting? What? Your relationship with Obi-Wan? Your talents? You’ve won awards too. How would this be different?” Isa looked up at the drawing again, thought a little more. “It’s not the eroticism that embarrasses you . . .” she said finally, “it’s the emotions, isn’t it?”

Bruck shook his head, but she was closer to the mark than he wanted to admit.

"It’s, is it because of what happened with Qui-Gon’s ex-apprentice?” He could hear her trying to puzzle it out.

He nodded again, unhappily. “I’m sort of on permanent probation, until I’m knighted, maybe then, too, if I even make it that far. Every now and then I get called up by the Council, and I like to avoid being there on my knees, if I can.”

“On your knees?” She seemed incredulous. “They’re still riding you about that? Gods, Bruck, you were just a kid—”

“Almost an adult. A tenth shy of it.”

“That’s crazy! Abso-fucking-lutely whacked! Don’t let that bunch of stuffed robes run over you like that—”

Bruck burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, that’s quite a dynasty Qui-Gon’s got. Ben seems to be the only one who’s not a rebellious little snot.”

“Rebellious little snot? Who’re you calling a rebellious little snot?” she laughed, slapping his belly and getting a loud “Ow!” out of him. “You say that to me in the salles, Padawan Chun, in front of the combat master. And wear a cup, boy. I’ll kick your butt.”

And she did, soundly, later that morning, in the course of showing him a few neat tricks to use next time he took on Garen in a tournament. _Damn,_ he thought, picking himself up off the floor for what felt like the hundredth time, _she’s ready for her trials now._ When he had it all down perfectly, she hugged him, right in the middle of the salle, right in front of everybody, and he couldn’t stop grinning.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon woke later in a wash of sunlight, wondering why he felt so . . . happy? No, that was a completely inadequate description. Far too tame. Elated, perhaps. Or euphoric. No. Too extreme. Something gentler. Well, a state somewhere between joy and ecstasy. But it was something more than that too, involving contentment. And peace. That was, perhaps, the dominant note in the harmonic. A sense that all was well. That he had finally, after a long, arduous, painful journey, come home.

And home seemed to be embodied in the young man nestled against him. Obi-Wan lay curled on his side, head resting on Qui-Gon’s chest, breathing softly, bristly hair aglow. Sunlight picked out the gold among the red, crowning his lover like royalty. _Silly,_ Qui-Gon thought, amused with himself for the image. He ran his fingers through the silkiness, felt Obi-Wan stir and stopped, not wanting to wake him. He needed some time with this new feeling, both to define it and just enjoy it—and to sort out which of them it was coming from.

He remembered, vaguely, feeling this way as a much younger man, not the first time he and Mace had slept together, but the first time he realized he was in love with his yearmate. Now as then, there was a sense of unqualified rightness that he had not had in a very long time—one that had not lasted long with Mace. They were too different, and it had taken them too long to realize it. Mace had, as he now admitted, never really understood him; worse, he had never really tried to. Unlike Mace, Obi-Wan had been willing to meet him in his world, willing to acknowledge that it might, in fact, be different from his own. That Obi-Wan had understood him so implicitly last night—indeed, throughout their time together—without the need for explication, and accepted him without hesitation or question, was a gift he had never really received from anyone.

But that was only part of it. Less familiar was the deep contentment, the sense of both pleasure and satisfaction he was feeling now. It was an almost physical satiation, but one that went beyond sexual fulfillment. There was an emotional component to it as well, giving him a sense of completion, a sense of being whole. It seemed to belong as much to Obi-Wan, in his sleep, as it did to Qui-Gon, waking, and that could only be their bond.

He explored it carefully, let himself be swept into it and found himself suddenly drowsy, warm, drifting, with the awareness of a familiar and loved larger person holding him securely, nothing urgent to be attended to, and the sense of lazy and gentle pleasure that was Obi-Wan, waking. He’d rarely come to wakefulness himself like this, and he let himself feel what his lover was feeling, understanding for the first time how pleasant it was to find consciousness by increments, rather than all at once as he was accustomed to. The indolence was sweet, and the gradually increasing awareness of his—his?—body filled him with a slow delight. Obi-Wan stirred in his arms and began to stretch languidly, muscles seeming to wake one by one. Qui-Gon found it a wonderful sensation. This was a gift indeed, this new connection between them.

It warmed him now, like a fine wine, making him a little giddy. He felt, absurdly, that no matter what happened now, what sacrifices he had to make, how little he and Obi-Wan saw one another again, that they would never truly be apart. The young man beside him had touched him so deeply that he had left part of himself behind, in a secret place he had opened to the sun for the first time in years. For a brief moment, he could feel the weight and heat of his lover’s hand and arm behind his navel, deep inside him, felt a little as though he’d given birth—and in a way he had, to some new kind of kinship between them, and to a new self.

“Oh, love,” he whispered, fingers sweeping lightly over the marks he had left on Obi-Wan’s skin, “thank you.”

 

Obi-Wan drifted up from a blissfully dreamless unconsciousness to comforting warmth, the smell of lovemaking in the sheets and on their bodies, and Qui-Gon’s arms around him. They were face to face in late morning sunlight, legs entwined, Qui-Gon’s fingers running the length of his spine, tracing the pictograms and the new monogram on his skin with a touch so light it seemed barely there. His cheek was pressed against Qui-Gon’s chest, and beneath his ear was the steady rhythm of a calm heart. One of his own arms was curled around his lover’s waist beneath the covers, the other threaded between his neck and shoulder with the hand buried in Qui-Gon’s long, loose, and now hopelessly sleep-tangled hair. They were skin to skin from knee to shoulder, groins pressed together, morning erections grazing with each breath.

“Mmmmrmph,” Obi-Wan mumbled against Qui-Gon’s chest, planting a kiss there and stretching. He reached up and touched his lover’s face, stroking one eyebrow sleepily. “Are you all right?”

“Mmmmmm,” Qui-Gon rumbled, squeezing him nearly breathless and kissing his forehead. “Very well, love.” They fell into a contented silence again, merely holding one another, Qui-Gon’s fingers still roaming over the raised markings, old and new. He traced the monogram where it lay in the V of flesh just above Obi-Wan’s buttocks, a spot where any kind of touch or caress would usually make him squirm. In a moment, he was doing just that, hips rocking gently against his lover, their cocks gliding together.

“Feels nice,” Obi-Wan murmured sleepily, then kissed him, one hand cupping the back of Qui-Gon’s head, deeply entangled in his hair.

“Yes, it does,” Qui-Gon agreed. “I never knew how nice. It’s just like an “on” button in you, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan nodded, “lights me right up,” and nuzzled in his lover’s neck, lips just brushing the spot behind his ear that made Qui-Gon shiver. “Just like that—oh,” he murmured, feeling the spike of desire through the bond. Obi-Wan leaned back, eyes filled with surprise and wonder. “I can feel you.”

“It’s very distracting, isn’t it? But in a nice way. I suspect it will take some time to get used to.”

“What a shame,” Obi-Wan smiled.

They moved gently against each other for a time, until Obi-Wan decided he wanted more and rolled over in his lover’s arms. In another moment, Qui-Gon was inside him, slickened cock filling him, warm body against his back, calloused hand stroking his own hardness. They moved in tandem, rocking in counterpoint with each other, Obi-Wan up into Qui-Gon’s fist and back against the heat and silk sliding so deeply into him.

After a moment, Qui-Gon’s hand touched his shoulder, urged him forward into a tighter curl. “I want to see where we’re joined, love, where I become part of you.” Obi-Wan shivered at the image and complied, then felt a rough finger stroking the stretched ring of muscle as Qui-Gon slid in and out of him. “Amazing,” he heard. “It’s so beautiful, the way we fit together.” And through the bond was Qui-Gon’s sense of wonder and awe flooding him.

“Like you were last night,” Obi-Wan murmured, nearly overcome, “taking me in, so much of me. That you would do that for me.”

Qui-Gon stopped his motions with a little protested “Hey!” from Obi-Wan.

“For you?” the older man said, confusion in his voice.

Obi-Wan reached around and drew his lover’s face down for a kiss. “It was a gift, Qui, no matter what you think, to have you open yourself to me like that. For you to trust me that much—need me that much. I know how hard it was, no matter how much you wanted it. You’re a very private man, too, and have been even with me.”

“I wasn’t always so. I haven’t wanted to be, with you especially.”

“No, I know that. I know it was partially out of necessity—having padawans—and partially out of injury. And I know no matter how much you love me, it still took an extraordinary amount of courage to let me in that way last night.”

“No more than it took to trust me with your heart, love.”

“That, Qui, was very easy. Never mind. We both gave each other something last night, and both got something we wanted, without reservation, which is as it should be.”

Qui-Gon kissed the back of his neck and started to move again, still stroking the place they joined, then slipping a finger inside along his cock. Obi-Wan hissed and then moaned softly. “That’s so good. . . . It’s so good with you. . . .”

And for the first time, Qui-Gon truly believed him.

This time, when climax took them both, one after the other, nothing shattered, though everything felt new, afterwards. And so it was. Sometime in the night, they had become two different people, and built something new and stronger between them, as much manifest in the small moans and cries of this gentle orgasm as in the tumult of the ones that had taken them earlier. And the afterglow they sank into was sweeter than either ever remembered, filling their bond with contentment and peace that belonged to both of them at once and each individually. So strong that it was nearly a sound, it also filled them with the deep sense of the other’s well-being, and the love behind it.

“It sounds almost like surf,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Or wind through leaves.”

“Or . . . purring.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “Yes. And when you come, it’s a roar, like falls. And there’s nothing else but that.”

“Except your heartbeat under it, and your breath until you come, and then we’re going over the falls together.”

“Gods, Qui, why wouldn’t anyone else want this with you?”

“Fear, I suppose. Fear of losing oneself.”

“But it’s not a loss. It’s a huge gain. It’s like I’ve been an empty house, and you’ve moved in.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed, kissing him. “Exactly like that.”

“Welcome home, Qui,” Obi-Wan whispered, pulling his lover against him more tightly.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon sighed.

 

* * *

 

 

##  _Epilogue_

“Does this mean I’m your padawan now?” Anakin asked, scurrying to keep up with Qui-Gon as they walked through the corridors. “Now that Obi-Wan’s really a knight?”

“We’ve discussed this, Ani. Remember?” the older man said, not unkindly, shortening and slowing his stride. It was one thing for an adult Obi-Wan to keep pace with him, and another for a 9-year-old who hadn’t been fed very well until recently. His three previous padawans had all grown used to having such a tall master, but the first few years there had always been some accommodation on his part, as there would have to be now. In this and other ways.

It felt odd to begin this process again. For years he had expected Obi-Wan would be his last padawan and now he found himself with another young one tagging at his heels, and this one needing more careful training than the others, he suspected. But it wasn’t as if he hadn’t asked for it, Qui-Gon thought wryly. And perhaps all the others had merely been his own training to prepare him for taking on this one. Force knew he had learned so much from them—or hoped he had, especially this last one.

He stopped and turned, kneeling in the hallway so he and the boy were eye to eye. “It takes a great deal of work and study and training to even become a padawan, all of which usually starts very early, and you’ve had none of it. Even when Force-sensitive children are found, like you, when they’re older than infants, they must go through a period of training as initiates. You began some of that on Arkania while we were there, but I want to settle you into a routine of it here and bring your skills and schooling up to an appropriate level for your age.”

“Was that why you wanted me to sleep away last night?” Anakin asked, looking worried.

“Yes, Ani, among other reasons. I thought you might like to meet some friends your own age and get to know some of the people you’ll be training with. And to that end, I’d like you to start spending a few nights during the tenth in the Initiates Halls, like you did last night.”

“You mean I won’t be staying with you?” Anakin’s eyes got very wide and fear soured his presence in the Force.

Qui-Gon held his arms open and Anakin crept into them. “I’m not abandoning you, Ani. You’ll still have your room in our quarters. I’ll still be training you. And you will be my padawan when you’re ready. But you’re going to have to work hard to catch up with your yearmates so we can make that happen. I know you can do it, and I’ll always be here to help you, but it won’t be easy. And you must trust me.”

“I do,” the boy said, hugging him fiercely. “I’ll work hard, I promise. I’ll be your best padawan.”

 

* * *

 

Bruck was still grinning when he caught up to Kenobi at dinner. The new knight had started without him and was eating without paying much attention to either his food or what was going on around him. He only noticed Bruck when he dropped his tray on the table across from him. “Oh, there you are.” He looked up, blinking like someone coming out of a trance.

“‘There you are’? You haven’t been looking for me, have you?” Bruck asked, looking at his plates and wondering why he’d picked the things he had.

“Oh, no. Not really. We were supposed to meet for dinner, right?”

Bruck waved a hand in front of his face. “Tower one to Kenobi, You have veered from your approved flight path. Suggest you correct course immediately. Over.”

“Sorry. I’m not really awake yet,” he grinned.

“Well, someone got well-laid last night.”

“I did manage to hear I wasn’t the only one. What are you doing with that . . . slop . . . on your tray?”

Bruck stared at his tray and what was on it again, feeling queasy when he saw the blue-grey mound of jellied whatever-it-was move of its own accord. “I have no idea. Guess I wasn’t paying attention.” He pushed it away. Reeft, at the other end of the table, said, “Are you going to eat that?” Bruck chuckled and shoved it in his direction. “Be my guest.”

Kenobi waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Thinking with your little brain, I see. Rumor has it you and Isa left the party hand in hand. You’ve got a thing for redheads, apparently.”

Bruck rescued his fork from his own tray and helped himself to Kenobi’s dinner. “Rumor, for once, has it correct.” Gods, it was hard not to be smug about this all of a sudden. And he really didn’t want to sound like some sleazy moron bragging about his conquests. Isa was hardly a conquest. If anything, he’d been the one seduced last night. “We got talking, out on the balcony after you left,” he went on. “Complaining about our lots in life as lowly, besotted padawans. She’s . . . I mean . . . well, I like her. A lot. I’d never talked to her before, and we were both a little drunk.”

“Were you drunk when you went to bed?”

“No. We were very, very sober,” he said quietly, concentrating carefully on Ben’s tray.

Kenobi put his hand over Bruck’s, stopping him in mid-stab. “Hey, I’m not torqued. I’m not jealous. Did you have a good time? Both of you?”

“Yeah, we did.” And Bruck could not, no matter how he tried, suppress his grin.

“And that scares you,” Ben added, reading behind it.

“Less than I thought it would,” Bruck admitted. “A lot less. We, I’d like to see her again. Soon.”

“Good,” Kenobi sighed, seeming relieved. “Because I think I need a little time myself. Things got very—intense, last night.”

Bruck looked up then, concerned. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“Oh, definitely in a good way. I just need some adjustment time.”

“The bond?”

Kenobi nodded, eyebrows nearly meeting. “I don’t know what’s happening. I can just, it’s like he’s here,” he touched his breastbone then his temple, “all the time. It’s almost white noise. Distracting. I wouldn’t be any fun to be with anyway.”

Bruck reached over and rubbed his thumb against the line between Kenobi’s brows, smoothing it out. “Unless I were Qui, of course,” Bruck added, smiling. “You look a bit stunned, or preoccupied, or something. Take your time. Do what you have to do. I’ll be fine.”

“You know I love you,” Kenobi said earnestly. “That hasn’t changed.”

Bruck nodded. “I know. That hasn’t changed on my end, either. I just—it’s the first time I’ve ever _connected_ with someone other than you. I’d kind of thought you were going to be the only one. And now . . .”

Kenobi looked over at him, smiling. “I’m glad, Bruck. I’m really glad for you.”

“And relieved, I’ll bet.”

“Not the way you think,” the new knight said sharply. “It’s never been a burden being with you, the way you think it has. I’m just glad you’re finally opening up, learning to trust people again. And that it’s somebody like Isa. She’ll be good for you.”

“Yeah, I kind of think so too. She uh, saw the drawing I did of you.”

“The one over your bed?” Kenobi’s eyes widened. Bruck got a sudden glimpse of the complexities of having more than one lover at a time. “Oh, no,” Ben moaned quietly.

“She’s not going to tell anybody about it.” Bruck said. “Lighten up.”

“What did she say?”

“She thought it was beautiful. She wanted to know why I hadn’t ever exhibited anything. And she said was pretty obvious from that drawing that I really love you. She’s right, you know.”

“I know. It’s just a little embarrassing,” he said, face flushed and ears bright red.

Bruck wasn’t sure whether he was annoyed or amused. He remembered Isa remarking on how silly sex was, how funny people were caught in the throes of passion, something Ben would never admit, and seemed to try desperately not to think about.

“Yeah, it’s a little embarrassing that I like seeing you like that too,” he said rolling his eyes. “She wasn’t laughing at you.”

“Okay, okay. I get the point. Too late now anyway. I’ll get over it.”

“You are beautiful like that,” Bruck said softly, reaching across the table and rubbing one hot ear between his thumb and fingers. “And you love it. Don’t give me that shit.”

Ben ducked his head away, looking a little shamefaced. “That’s what Qui said too, last night.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty irresistible. You going to be all right, the two of you?”

“We’ll be fine. It’s just going to take a little time to get use to. Don’t worry about it. Go have fun with Isa. In fact, go eat her dinner, instead of mine. And tell her I said good luck with you.”

Bruck stood up, grinning, leaned over and kissed Kenobi, and sauntered off to Isa’s table.

She looked up from her dinner, surprised. “Okay if I sit down?” he asked.

“Only if you sit next to me, and not way over there,” she grinned.

In a few moments they were absorbed enough in each other—sitting close, Bruck with his arm around her, Isa feeding him bites of her own dinner—that Bruck almost missed Obi-Wan’s exit. It was Isa who nudged him and nodded to where the new knight was sitting. Qui-Gon, tray apparently already disposed of, Anakin at his side, was standing by Obi-Wan’s seat, the younger man looking up at him with a broad, joyous smile. Then, astonishingly, Qui-Gon leaned down and kissed him, not at all quickly, Obi-Wan reaching up to hold the back of his neck. Murmurs spread outward from them like ripples on a pond as they left together, holding hands, Anakin trotting at Qui-Gon’s heels. Isa smiled and Bruck grinned.

“That’s a first,” he said.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them kiss in public—or even hold hands. Though I’ve seen you and Obi-Wan do both.”

“They don’t, usually. I guess it did get a little intense last night.”

“Well, it seems to be a change for the better.”

“Yeah. They weren’t the only ones.”

“No,” Isa agreed, leaning over and kissing him. “They weren’t.”

 

* * *

 

Later, so much later it was nearly the next day, Bruck sat at the foot of his bed, watching Isa sleep, seeing in his mind how he would sketch the shadows beneath her breasts, draw the line of her hip, suggest the curve of her lips. The hard part would be catching the laughter in her eyes when she was awake, and the generosity he’d been the first to see there.

It would be a beautiful drawing, too, hanging beside Ben’s.


End file.
